love -- for you

until the sun turns dark and falls
'til the seas dry up and fade
'til stars stop twinkling
or I wear the souls of my feet off
coming for you --

'til clocks count backwards
and the lens can't see
or granite is soft as cotton
on slopes of the Rockies
no light shines --

'til all wine sours on the vine
'til I can't write another word
or hear another verse
in this skull of mine --

A tip with greens and tangerines
attach to some large thing beyond
the frame's geometry, for granted
and on blue

Mathematical? Not like the hour
I look away from what is crumpled,
and see nothing

And I assume

the garden chairs still lie about
Crickets in what I thought was
grass,- (their number troubles
me), but one

Beneath the cotton parasol