Sitting as Buddha on a chocolate juniper
--the theme of madness
thirty cinnamon centres
Ophelia squares;
Brunelleschi floating down a fallen river
on nougats, perhaps onyx pears.
The sleek eyes of a cat stare floodlit topaz,
ocelot rings round her burning mask.
And sipping dry wine
Beaujolais, decantered Anjou
with iron doors not Ghiberti's fashioning but sweet meadows waving
fresh, summer grass.
And I at the garnet Buddha box--
a cold winter day pledging choices
pale, juniper tree
the carnival log egging up thick cordial;
the inlaid satin box hovering about silent, apple wedge
a child's fantasy, orgeat or bordeaux,
lactose fudge, bon appetit
syrupy taste of Burgundy cherry.
The axe ring of squirting tissue
with drone of passing feet
up finger stairs
until the rustle of cloth
crosses the turquoise box,
clamours almond clusters
into the courtyard cafe.