If it be warfare, let it be mistress <br />and midnight up that slope, <br />not reticent in a weather <br />of withdrawal, its salmon-roe tint, <br />the shabby grass it grazes <br /> <br />but varnished to richterline <br />under a prismatic glare: <br />delinquent churn of cloudswath <br />and gust, calving a foreshore filth <br />from its respiratory lunge: <br /> <br />inlaid verges blear kaleidoscopic, <br />larkspur and loosestrife splinter <br />and render afire, as frontiers to scour <br />or confiscate, and laving dark <br />these latent, these restive affronts: <br /> <br />I was in love with a river <br />and its recoil - water and whither <br />it went is a doctrine of veil, <br />applique to what angle of incident <br />little, what lightless, unhinge.<br /><br />Andrew Zawacki<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/any-other-eviction-than-the-frequent/
