Security at Auction

The mirror I left on the floor filled with apricots

was careless. But careless is something I’ve been

recently.  I didn’t want to open the book

the author had signed, crossed out his name

and signed again like a bitten into peach.

Now say something philosophical.

And when we threw him out he clanged

like an old chandelier.  A great smoker

reduced to ashes.  Outside two swans

clear their long throats.  It is remarkably

short and over like the first time making love.

Now I m writing this letter from a field of aster

And the stems are understandably long.