Response to Daniel

One Pantoum (current version)

The season will inevitably come.
Close in the air the scent of salt and musk.
Time slips downstream, twilight fading to dusk.
Distant, unceasing, thrums a secret drum.

Close in the air the scent of salt and musk.
Soft lashes quiver, bees in the treeflowers hum.
Distant, unceasing, thrums a secret drum.
Each seed secretes gold oil within its husk.

Soft lashes quiver, bees in the treeflowers hum.
Blood-starved mosquitoes raven to their task.
Each seed secretes gold oil within the husk.
Fruit ripens, the mossed peach, the purple plum.

Blood-starved mosquitoes raven to their task.
A throat will nicker softly, then grow dumb.
Fruit ripens, the mossed peach, the purple plum.
Lips whisper as they ask what they must ask.

A throat will nicker softly then grow dumb.
Time slips downstream, twilight fading to dusk.
Lips whisper as they ask what they must ask.
The season will inevitably come.


DH