non sequitur .004

a profusion as of
                        broken rain
two parrots atop the spire
a flying buttress    barely there
                            a murmuring
as words spin before
they loosen into
                     a past
quickness afterthought benign rubble there
I see you in that 3rd balcony
a mirror maze
                     your listening for      a stir of    moments
you the composite of a hundred         pasts
                     you a darling in folds of

     once a snowing      over     a desperate      valley
         the lovers there aloft on whir of cables
                                                              barely ascending

                        a ladling of
                        the fallen fruit
                        a future
                                                        a feathering
                                                                        a forgetting.

Doug Bolling