What A Grief

 

What a grief, he told the lady
with her charms all fixed,
to draft this spectacle
and have the shutters trouble
with the blinds.
She was a dancer of cracked mosaics.

We forget when the smooth ball breaks
how we hewed
with a rude stone ax
the stumps of bronze and amber.
So we fall
and feel we can't achieve
simple miracles of gravity,
ideals of grace and electricity.

I want to expand, she said,
into more tropical departments,
greater fields of anxiety.
He focused his closer window
on the frozen rose.