When opening a door to a Tudor Matador
underneath the expression of a bullish mood
A pink sky when things are pi and a life spent
following the framed moon.
Mindful of starting fires under meditative lions
Is like spending too much time under the sun
Why would you recreate beginnings
for already carved copper plated story.
you could have borrowed the keys to the ice house
tempered by those Beautiful Words
Which mathematicians Scrawled upon walls
that fell down not so long ago
Being counted out to the abacus signatures.
Can you follow these instructions too build your own ship
And when You look out over all those edifices
Your realise at once we are all just serpents of the world
Having watched hatchlings and the abandonment
of sea weights.
To Sew sails to take you beyond the stranded lighthouse
From a cave beneath the stars to grow oaks from acorns
to feed a comtemplative hen pondering how do you put a feather
back in a featherless head.