Conflated with the Ripe Shrub

I linger here under throbbing pines

my allocated Censure starving

for Remittal; What

beaks are these that push forth with irony

acerbic to the Core, unknowing? Flitting

on branches, fearful

of purple-throated Grackles the Sparrows

mimic Certainty with

cherubic Whimsy henpecked and Sultry

omnipresent in

Winter’s supplicating Sureness

a bastardized

Romance of threat or Calumny – What

can Pierce

us here encased in the supplicating ice

burgeoning in our Veins? – What

manner of knowing

and understanding visits our brow

confused or heretic? (We

stand

here at the prow our hips gently swaying

as warm water

courses through our minds headfast

and heartfelt) --