March wines

March wines rob me of my youth. Summer excrement melts down over the horizon. Somewhere in the distance a woman is weeping and bending over. Time stands still in the center of a lake. All the fish swim round in circles. Millionaires drop their wallets from the shores. Lagoons open and close inside their hearts. Martyrs take us by the hand and show us the way back to early America. Microscopes flex and bend in the cool wet wind. Monsters we thought were hidden show themselves and shake hands with each other. Ten people sit down to eat dinner. One doesn’t walk away.