Pandora's Random Joggings
My future poppies tall
forsake in my past
my purview's deja
as Ravel's ballerina
forever repeats
her pirouette
and supple plie.
O for the garden wall
go my knuckled bones
in awe of
my yester years,
my pastor's egg
fertile yokes
folded poppy petals
hard pressed and
my soul in earnest
comes aground
again
