That's when all thought of Poetry
gold alchemy search all dumped together
beautiful middens igloo rugs everything
thought were mine secretly my own
turned tiny dead small in the shadow
thoughts lit rounded and strange
so still could not breathe or else
it would smear a wiggly streak
across a little loop above last night's
coppery less bossy than the icy white
even clouds probiotic in their
drifting that wasn't my gold my igloo
after all in the shadow there was more
can't forgive the tomb however
and the friendliness of the skeleton
others how easily changing back
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