A block of soap carved to look like Pan
and that’s just what came in the mail
a volcano under those flip flops
kisses spilling off the water-wheel
Green becomes a stillness leftover in the late-born effluence
of a decade’s worth of smoke and flat beer
(I can’t get any air)
because there was no acoustic guitar
just dust scraped off an anxious moth’s wings
David Dodd Lee (USA, 1959 -), from The Nervous Filaments, Four Way Books, 2010