Dear Grace...

Under a microscope of frozen tears,
Through the milliseconds of remaining endeared
Heads of defied opprobrium,
I will rise to know you again.

There quiver the hollowed succinct leaves
Spitting a raindrop into your eyes,they seek
A wisdom of the machiavellian pianist---
I fall, they cry, you breathe, they die...

Where the sun will go down on the short years.
I will shout across the backyard,
A clothesline being shred by the shards
Of a broken microscope
And a rosette of farce,
Admit it, you hate me
Because I can see those tears...

Vanilla cones and pop-corn brunch,
Plastic smile,I still see them veneered...

Then the upended faces of fallen facades,
Billowing in the caved-in draft of ignominy,
But a silly rupture of giggles in the dark
A jolt of "who's there!"
And you will rise again to know me...

And hate me or love...
You will follow me...