Trembling With a Strobe’s Tint by Ken L. Jones

Crows fly off an unrecognizable cliff
The click, click, click of the red wine ballet
Is like a romantic train ride to old movies
And while the scriptures of the rain
Come down making an angel faced
Brazier lit courtyard out of the lingering
Robert Frost countryside as it gives birth
To heirloom apples that though told
And retold are always new
And which is why I always set a place for them
At my poet’s table grateful to hear of their time worn journeys
Which always have the ring of truth about them even as they flurry.