Pantomime of a Pantoum

A blue flame dances besotted with a black breeze.
Silky the silence as moonlight drifts through.
We stirred under a slumber of cloudbanks
nimbostratus, billows of thunderheads.

Sullen the silence as morning pushes in,
a tumble of kids, hurricane and hailstorm.
They will live beyond our dreams if we are lucky,
if we can give wings to a fretful mind.

The tumblers stampede for a coconut cake.
A red tabby darts behind a blue door.
If our grace kept pace with such rapacious gusto,
we all would rise and shine again and again.

The red tabby emerges, prize under his paw.
We prattle on like plastic bags on barbwire,
beside a river of insolent tire growl and roar;
blameless we flap, deaf, blind, dumb drum.

Redemption runs by with her red Solo cup.
In the trees, a council of ravens and jays;
look around, look west, east, up and down.
Our blue flame has married her black breeze.

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What the Muses Leave Behind

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