This post is also related to two of Lewis Oakwood’s poems on his site, visit to a flea market and a storeroom, http://thecuttingpoets.wordpress.com/ Please give them a read as well. I am working with Lewis on perhaps reviving some of those orphan lines we all seem to accumulate.
Quillfyre
Aspiring to poet
Quillfyre 
Hi Carol, while setting up a new page on my blog I accidently deleted (and lost) some of the two parters/ uncorked poems, included among the deleted was your first attempt. I would be most grateful if you could please resend the piece to me so that it may be included on the new page ‘Friends Of Uncorked’. Thank you, Lewis :)
hmm I thought I had posted it on my blog but it isn’t there…
LINE EXCAVATIONS, ARCHAEOLOGIES
I.
It’s not about the tremble on your tongue
It’s in the taste of mountains
the colour of wind
the bitter voice of herbs
the texture of air
the tremor of red stones
II.
Imagine a mountain taste: salt, bitter, earth taste
a hint of old sock and worm perhaps mold
the metallic iron nuances of fool’s gold, mint, almond
a trickle of fresh melt and shell
Imagine. What is the colour of wind? It pulls blue from the air
folds it into white filtered through smog and rain
from the west it shatters into grey, white from the south and north
marine blue moving west from the east coast of Greenland and
when it rises upward fades into black and stars
Imagine you hear the bitter voice of herbs. Is it a low mutter gutteral
or a high clear C-note above sound? Does it resonate?
A bounce-back beat a staccato stack of jazz riff searching for a melody
or a thrum drum hum just north of subsound— does it incline, lean, a little hot
and mean, toward a little subterranean Mediterranean Latin lilt tilt?
imagine the texture of air, a lightweight seersucker suit, a mixed brew of scent
and twinge, eau of meadow and l’air du city smoke, a soupçon of cloud, sieved
through a fine mist of rain, snow and fresh with fragrance of sun.
I’ve seen the tremor of red stones.
How they tremble at the clap of thunder,
huddle together under harsh storm. Each shiver
a glimpse of glint on rounded shoulder, lined
with spidery veins of silver and gold granite,
but though they tremble they will not break,
and they will never let you see their heart.
Carol A. Stephen
May 8, 2014
Hi Carol, thank you so much for reposting the piece, I have now included it with your other work (Grizzly Shark Yak Avalanche) :)