Workshop

The least manageable fraction
of unreleased time
is a virgin consequence of blasted
tomorrow.  This stem of night
carries flashes of life through
ardent branches, not
perplexed at all.

You want to know
where you are.
Fair enough, as hands emerge
from fragrant meadows
of longing.  The long
and short of it.

Is this the workshop honey?
parting her hair
with the sun.

3-13-13