Carmine

With all her fretwork on display,
fissures of deep-bone joy
sometimes erupt.

Horses, a corral,
blemished but un-perishing,
coral joy and drowsing
by travertine pools, the ceramic
peach bones of Calypso.

A chambered nautilus,
she chases caravans
over the honest hills,
pasting jewels
and acquaintances
into her gouged
book of days.

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