The Marbling Tree

Winds erode soils to move augers to make square guitars,
Discovered beneath the tree that marbles skies of March;
Mortice chisels brought here by susurrant leverage.
An obscure figure of speech, lacuna privilege,
Allows me to think, and you to speculate, in free
Parenthesis.                               That is left me,
Winds erode soils to move.
I exist, ellipsis, before the marbling tree,
Part ghost, with my jogging pants billowing risibly,
Your construct in the absence of my thoughts’ furnishing.
Lacuna privilege solicits speculating,
That in this gusty groove
Where the augers gather, beneath the marbling tree,
I might exist, jogging pants ballooning about me.