All Hallows' Veils

A poem goes as a newborn
An old man goes as a young mother

A sunrise goes as a tangerine
A breakfast goes as a fruit dish

Affection goes as a brace of doting grandparents
A bittersweet recollection goes as a scenic commute

A silence goes as a self-startled ghost
Noises go as a scholar's marginalia

Cottonwoods go as last week's bouquets of dried sunflowers
Fields go as unmade beds

Mountains go as reclining nudes
Clouds go as ballroom dancers

Time goes as space
Mind goes as a couturier

Sporting a cumbersome tricornered hat
Suspiciously like a blue sky