Burningword Literary Journal, January 2015
Dancing water sloshed
At the edge of gray
Slate, weary & washed
By a thousand coins, as the day
Gaped from the gap above. Broken
Floor-to-sky foundation, tired cracks.
Steady toss-chip-tumble tokens
Dug in deep. The architect’s facts
Ignored wish-fueled erosion, material
Chosen to swallow the glaring sun
Lies brittle & dry, a burial
Of whispered aspiration. One by one
Tiles seep & shift to press
The tidal drag. Ten thousand cubic feet
Lost to ceramic distress,
Once upon a time wet & neat,
Now caged by empty glass walls
Mocked by ill-timed, temperate rain.
With dreams of glossy waterfalls
Intact in crass inscription, left to train
The eye & ear & heart
On what’s no longer within reach.
The wishing fountain wills itself a part
Of resurrection from the unintended breach
Of contact. At the center, a boat
Or a paper plane in copper, brushed.
Postmodern misdirection left to gloat
Over snap of sealants & lazy work of grouters, rushed.