incense & opium

there are pipes of grass
made by the elephant

bowls of wood, specks
of amethyst; you know --

your actions speak louder
than the woodlute, but not

the piper. your bathtub,
etched in copper, we found
out back in the woodlot ;

i cannot explain how beautiful
you are, a morning jog, i can't

show you the grace of a moment
or if i can, my flag flags, you know...
a droopy sedimentary chevron.

nobody rallies around a column
of simple wood, unless indeed
the intent is to murder
or, more likely, bake.