the house of a vale by the sea
where there’s no waiting
for horses with chalked boards
roofs set to square down the line.
which can’t be solved now by sugar cubes
trips away with Plato too visit tubular rotating tides
a vine drunk on a life full of love
with a glimpse of Eros on the wing
weaving rules of a second
service at the nets knitting Pearls
of beautiful woven squares.
whilst drinking rotating gears
watching webs sewn on a spiders rye
the only light the reasoning found
in geometric bulbs of springtime.
