Portrait Poem by GRANT FRASER

While holding
a basket of fruit
with the best illicit
grin I can muster!

it's true,
but nothing new,
that we're all on
the brink of existence,
high up
on some dizzying bridge,

and the smell
of what we are is there,
or coming up in gusts!

whirling wrinkles
climb,
get moistened,

forget all titles here,

but engaged
to your blood fire,

the fluid clean and near,

exits....

all thoughts
trickle out,
with pearly pure faces,

as time slackens...