The Rim
Falls written on the edge of orange leaves,
Upon the curling crest of surfer’s waves,
On Violetta’s lashes as she grieves,
The falling salt of love, salt eyes by graves—
Are stunning all. They lame the heart and lung,
These autumns peer through pain, except perhaps
The Honolulu barrel. Death among
The beauties, that is life. The loss and lapse
Create the fevered foil for shining joy.
Destruction is excruciating glee
For gods. In play we are their whipping boy.
They gloat inside a scarlet agony.
..The more the brilliancy of ache and spill,
….The more gods love to watch and laugh and kill.