Not to trouble you
from those strains of thought as
dishes and planes of glass
to see through.
Only touchable their
milky white features moving gently beyond hopes
waters descend like a silken
screen I feel only your
soft pressures into the
touch of clay colors.
And lovely are its shadows.


This was done with a new opening being given my experience after living alone for some time. 
I met a penguin on the road and said I needed to live in tune with things in a way that grew with this. 
I lived in a house east of the city and seemed a good poem to create the necessary idea.