a turreted dome
houses leaves, roots, feet, ripples,
moments’ indulgence
the paper lanterns
loom alongside ill windows—
luminary ghosts
window panes become
trellises or crutches and
warp the sun’s dim light
toad poised on pool edge
cement beneath webbed toes—warts
he is not a frog
purple fronds are shed
but the necks still lengthen
just appendages
a petal is just
a petal, a pebble just
a fragment of time—
Read more from the suite here.