the one with violets in her lap (fragment 21)
the one with violets in her lap
tremulous, worries petals
with lace–maker fingers
as if to crochet a net of them
as if to capture all the untamed
whiskered beasts that battle each other
bellowing wordless monstrosities.
but still, this grave stillness of fusing
with frost, and one to one with a beast
these violets—she murmurs—
she would herself be violets,
catch all manner of haptic creatures
with the merest thought,
with a netting of herself.