Hopeland.

Bud in the evening, flower in the morning,
growth through the night, on the morrow is due;
heart like an eggshell and hollows in temples,
faulted and cracking in memory of few.
Balanced like dish sets and fallen like angels,
begging in song on a quest to renew;
honest intentions and scorn before breakfast-
herald the ancient and beat back the new.
Shallow like oceans and high as Valhalla,
spinning in shadows and asking for truth,
banging hew gong on accordion windows;
shy past the stars and collecting her youth.
Burning like baysides and scowling in rainbows,
spinning her hair through the wheel like the hay-
treating the sparrows and petting her wishes;
vain as the morning, affronted by day.
Laughing in tangles and curling in ribbon,
slanted like sunlight through blinds on a stage,
blasting like bassline and shaded in symbols,
braced in the doorway against her own age.