Rain

scrubs down leisure’s ribs.

I, with damp

sand playing incantation

saw an illuminated dream of distance.

I was the sand’s cross of freedom.

I

missed.

In the garden

was a familiar table

broad.

Something in the middle, like

rich comprehension:

A bunch of grapes

veiled all doubt.

The overhaul of silence

rattled me

I saw the tree there.

when it must have been,

must have been,

must

and reject the narrative

till the blank text

follows.

Yet

jasmine melody!