—from a collage by Marsha Connell
And the piano rose
only to find itself entangled
in the gnarled arms of an old oak.
Returning home to the trees
was what it least expected.
From the trunk, a cherub—
hair transformed into wings
muses over his handiwork:
a couple making sweet music
in the mossy arbor.
The crescent moon threatens to slip
down the throat of the well,
full-bellied roses rise from the dankness.
A single rose caught napping
on the piano lid like a flightless bird.
No one comes to play the piano
nesting clumsily in the trees.
Stone urns. Spanish moss gathers
in the wisdom of the air.
DREAM VESSELS —from collages by Marsha Connell
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