Something About Ages

Oh dual decaying, freeing
with a smell of dew
for each morning paid in yellow pollen dropped
among the mizzy painted
renaissance,
swirling weird divides in elbow crooks

niches where we hung the balustrades
copper-toned and shifting honey between
renegade
infidelity
cross enamored with misery, wrapped up
paper-cuts from all these ashen letters
written with infinitely-stenciled negatives
to hold isotopes.

Unity decays revelations, as the belly
balloons and touches cloud,
as the tadpoles lose their tails, as
reminiscing gains a flavor.