a short menu...

time paints in vivid strokes
as if a canvas, memory accepts
the colors of given days and blends
like the bend of sun and world's end
where only our idea of God can accept
the gift of the petal's edge

Memory shreds the ordered flow
into places we wish to go, and things we would;
and should is a passport to the space between
the sides of the page, burrow like leaf miners
raise the surface till it breaks, obliterates the fates
that have fallen once.

It is the comings and goings that do not lie;
nor morph into more pleasing substance-
alive or not, in the end...it is a short menu
for such a learned palate, and such eclectic tastes...