So much is so little when life drains through the decanter.
The cobalt blue sky raced through me all those sun-blessed mornings,
memories rolled into a scroll of tapestry from where  
pain unfolded when clouds hung like snarls of dirt on muslin.  
So much turns so little when life runs through a decanter:
take for instance the cardamom pods in a tea strainer –
pale, shrivelled and vessel emptied. Or bug that weaves acres
of spit for a silk yarn. Wind grasps a robe that desires
to fly away, a red fibre of anguish on the hook:  
so much gets so little when life runs through a decanter.

Day 4 NaPoWriMo

I have written in a new poetry form called “the sweetelle” invented by Allison Joseph. She writes,  “The sweetelle was invented by me on 3/4/12. It has 10 lines, 14 syllables per line and refrain lines at line 1, line 5 and line 10.  The poem can have a rhyme scheme if the poet wishes, but end-rhyme is not required. The lines can be metered or syllable count lines.”



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