The word of a snail on the plate of a leaf?
It is not mine. Do not accept it.
Acetic acid in a sealed tin?
Do not accept it. It is not genuine.
A ring of gold with the sun in it?
Lies. Lies and grief.
Frost on a leaf, the immaculate
Cauldron, talking and crackling
All to itself on top of each
Of nine black Alps.
A disturbance of mirrors,
The sea shattering its gray one_____
Love, love, my season.