Wish You Were Here

Wish You Were Here The hay bales golden, crimsons and ochre sere leaves fallen-- the caw of the Jackdaw There was no Nightmare until after the fall, painted and swooned like a Fuseli the clouds float in staccato and layered rich tones: vibrato from sparrows joins the chorus the suffering alluring woman frail calling on Nature, who chides the mawkish yet still holds in her in Her own way, as she ambles and thinks of loves’ long ago sadness your becoming frailty; weakness a handmaiden, its alluring on you and there is a mourning call from the maw of the jackdaw and the skies go crimson, deep ambers until a now purplish blue and the clouds become negatives as rotation continue-- I see the first star appear and think of all the females who thought love’s true “Boot in the face, the brute. brute heart of a brute like you” said Plath Tolstoy’s males prevail, the amative women frail, and frailty is true The tender heart a pulpy thing is simply the mind at war And Nature now turned to dusky twilight transforms her as before