Rush with me down —
there’s a cold marble swell
as the forest licks your feet.
Green glass-wood water
edges around white walls
of artistic interruptions.
Pond skaters settle on tension;
spring of a diving board
half-out the window.
Plaster twines in-out of branches.
Under soft, stage-lit skylights
spindly men stride in perfect stasis
towards see-through walls.
A jump from evergreen Louisiana;
leaf-spines tick the second hand.
A patch of brown rot,
dead and free,
gasps with so much light.
The lawn is solely green once more
I wore blue silk to Elsinore.