.....1 

Here in the gloaming,
a wormwood haze — 
the “m” on its head,
a “w,” amazed
at what the
drink itself does: 

Vermouth,
god bless you — th. 

.....2 

What really matters now is begonia,
he thought, distracted while reading — 
their amber anther and bone-white petals
missing from a jade pot
by the door — not a theory of metaphor. 

.....5 

The blue moon opens all
.....too quickly and floats
.....its head-
....................y fragrance over
..............................the path
.................before us: 

And so we slit
its throat, like a florist. 

.....6 

These hearts-on-strings
.....of the tenderest green
things that rise
from dirt,
then fall
................toward the floor,
...............................hang
.........................in
.............the air
.......like —  

..........hearts-
on-strings of the tenderest
green things — 
.....they rise from dirt
then fall toward
............the floor,
.....hanging in
...............the air like —  

...............................these
hearts-on-strings of the
tenderest green things,
.....................................rising
from dirt then falling
toward the floor,
..............hanging
......in the air like 

--from August; Peter Cole

[via POETRY May 2017]