Because if this
the morning gold is tainted - intentionally tainted -
like a doctor taking the day off in Japan. He should have followed the signs, gone to Africa or some such
where man is more primitive because he lives off the land.
I drop my glass, balking at the array of morning gold and victrics that results,
a mosaic of lost time.
The drops and pieces coalesce
and a face emerges - younger than I last saw her.
Wind. A disturbance,
cherub gives way to swaying waves reminiscent of bucolic country sides
and the hilly nature of her.
No time to sweep the glass, my fortunes dissipate with time.