Canova for sale;
of course,
someone needs her.
A need, a want.
An undulating, rippling pattern in the mackerel sky.
The bed of rocks, or is it a mattress propped up against a wall?
The delicacy of her hands, the way they catch the light.
The distant hills and morning clouds bathing the mountains,
and you are before the sun.
Before all morning,
you indistinct, the impression of you in
the new town.
I remember, and memory is the most important of my posessions,
that flat moonlight pouring in.
You close against the wind.
The premonition:
clouds providing such a warning,
and I searched for a cloud atlas
and found an flat green landscape.
It stretched out, the digital gradient of it.
And above,
the sky bled blue.
How to make
a cloud form
from rock.
