The soundest restlessness, the cinnamon
by Gideon Burton
The soundest restlessness, the cinnamon
reprieve along the length of shining hair,
the sugared punctures more than time could bear
and yet my sleep an animal to stun
toward the opening, a melted gun,
a compromise, the stock to split its shares
regrouped in random bunches, won’t we stare
a moment longer in the purpled sun?
I cannot track the beating, not the blood
or bread or crumbs of resolution, not
the sylvan sluices trebled in the shade
defacing tired tracks in grainy mud.
I’ll commandeer a khaki-colored cloth,
a chance to rub my thumb along a spade.
Feel free to copy, imitate, remix, or redistribute this poem as long as you give proper acknowledgment of authorship. Photo: flickr - webtreats
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