Colin F. Jones

JACARANDA

The Jacaranda grotesquely hung in blue,
Deformed in majestic deformity shedding life,
Form ignominious shapes and shadows hiding you
They guard the street of Satan’s deceitful wife.
Old fence, defeated by clime and time,
Clings to dead hinges; the gate to an un-mown lawn,
Where soft your footprints in their stealth still lie,
Camouflaged by night and revealed again at dawn.
Treacherous breathing filters from yon place,
That moon in sky slinks behind a shameful cloud,
To warn the sun lest it should know disgrace,
To look not down upon the love soaked shroud.
False sun dismembers night and lights the street,
And smiles away the darkness of deceit.