A Spot of Lime

He consumed the hopscotch rain- 

barreling away from downhill 

or uptick splotch. 

The evenness he dreamed might  

co-redeem a spot of weather

apart from impresarios 

shepherding un-limber filaments 

into the rinks where noises were arranged 

in daft rows where deftness posed a threat? 

Thus he squiggled his way into 

a place where contagious grace might land 

on shoulders belonging to others 

longing to be near his own. 

The body furniture, though spare, absorbed 

tones thought rare, as he presumed 

posteriors into seats as he had been taught to picture,

applying a broad brush to the rush 

toward hush turned universal goal: 

gimlets minus fuss.