Black

a poem by Roger B Rueda

athwart the rock-strewn mat of sour paspalum field the sudden,
lilac undulation of salihid mountain ascends with its paunch-like
crest reaching up the wine-coloured vault trouncing the setting
aubade that walks off with a look through these olden touches, like
a little issue trying to grab hold of her last glance of her flop before
the lights are cast out. below the furrowed tip, a lone Mangifera
caesia gets to its feet watching the mistiness chase towards and
    past
her like murin. the peeble, the sour paspalum, and the
    Pithecolobium
dulce take on new colours, like a colourful clade of gecko, as if to
    mingle
with a new set. as the aubade keeps on to set in the rear of the lined
extremities, the bouquet of the field come together and mount,
like the odour of a pronounced and charily arranged goulash.