A glowering candle highlights the shelves
Of jars
Of lethe,
Lethe so pretty and complacent,
Stitched by the spiders in a French nunnery
Out of the whitest, bleakest threads.
What lies beyond the candle’s territorial prowess?
Pearls cast before swine,
A vine of wine,
The truth artful and clandestine.
Miniature Moon 