Oriole

An old world passerine
Dream honeyed in
Oriole feather light, sun bright
Gilds and edges, scooping
Clouds of
Hopeful fragile life.

Breaking burst of catkins
The pain of budding breasts
Flesh vibrato,
Quivering hair, the nitrous fear ' some time may come
That I succumb to a
Thumb print grubby glass.

The hour hand still
Humming with last-night fight of
Counting pills across a desk over
Half-read lying newspapers, cracked
Vanilla pods and wooden gods from
Jaipur.