the disintegration of soap
has left you
buying diamonds
for a hand that will fade
you romanticize Florida
now that the shower water
pulled from the melting
mountain snow
is never quite warm enough
the old ways are dying
and the faces propped
by practiced mannerisms
in castle mirrors just ain’t selling
outside Disney World
you’d paint a motel shadow
if the water pressure was right,
knowing at least it would be warm
in the mornings that’d have you
goading impressions in your robe
to best get the shading down
The Lady of the Lake is no longer
rising out the swamp without bruises
with a sword proclaiming kings,
you’ve got to draw it from
the sidewalk grout yourself
practice enough by spring,
theory made tactile
in time to see the flowers
you’d forgotten
bloom,
to remember living