Steamed ghosts curl above
the ambered pool as ripples fracture an
afternoon whistle. The gentle
drizzle of hail, the squeeze of acid
rain, the splash of white rapids.
The atmosphere cradles
the porcelain’s pitched sigh, and
the worker rests
his curve on the scalloped shore, while
the roses bathe
in the scent of almond, bergamot
and calm revolution.
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