Two apples lay in the corner of my mouth, relishing the humidity.

Rose bud cheeks dripping with soiled promises

like the fairest climes where wandered the dainty knight.

Wandering in a pool of stagnant fish, a woman in a black veil

smokes the whiteness of eggshell skies.

In fire from ice, she floatsà they always float when black worms

slowly crawl under a thin blanket of snow,

digging in front of the copper mine for green-red oysters.

The medieval Clancy coat-of-arms bears

the sharp teeth of the predator over a bamboo shield,

a pitiful glimpse at what should have been a smile, a gathering of sparks.

Tender yeast fishhooks race through low tides.

Nothing moves me like the toy piano, sifting through ambergris.