Slumber the raison, esprit the headpiece,
naker of the membrane, or the war hearts,
of the tymp stick.
Midnight poets of tromba marina,
want for the breath of oaten reed,
ask the madrigal, for her pair of virgins,
even as dulciana sleeps.
Soft syrinx of Saturn, or quints
of the shepherd’s pipe,
feathered birds Philomel, in errands
of Polymnia, measure the air,
that oud or theorbo, might sustain,
weary chests of humble cantors, Eros meek.
To caress the dreaming stone, to coif by touch
a faith of minimum diamond, I equestrian by
strong pillar, foveate facets of honor.
Might I intervene to lift the light, to occupy
through consecrated spirit, to raise in yoke
my impediments of fetters fire?
I am the annulus of a gray headed sky, I
occupy that corner, loft of grief those waters
of attrition, where pivot, a hinge of sun?
It is her ring finger, for which gibbous and the
breathing gibbon’s, surrender follies of fright.
Narrowing’s of stature, Emma drinks her cup
of flowers, clippings of thoughts remembered,
with cert of Christmas holly.
Wishful wayfarers want upon her garland silk,
consortiums of the fleeting astilbe, that Welsh
by whim, her waltzing back. Emma of white
strings, hatbox in the glove swain of tiny but
regimental pearls, immuring seas of hand.
The moon lite night in long coat, adjusts it’s
lamp of mercy mirth, to corporal liberties at
her bedposts, officious dreams she commands.
Emma in the undergrowth, trims the ascot’s
of lothario’s, supples yet all sovereign nations,
by heart of single name.
I leave my cast of walking stones upon the water,
faces I fletch there, before such sink. Argonauts
I’ve posted of summoners dreams, once by sandbar
or float of pumice, sovereigns not as they seem.
What the earnest or the eager submerge of wishes,
I’d given myself to sea, every coral that net my heart,
knows better of me, all my current hopes fail to the
latches, gramercy’s else-wise closed.
So by sort my skiffs of lore, would douse within
the fathoms, such portions of anchorage, I’d felt
claim of flattery’s shores, succumb in the mists I
imagined, heart that drowns, my weight of ire.
Composing tree, the Blueberry Hawthorn
of the strings, maturations orange leaf of
autumn, sorrowful minors of September’s
bruise, the unusual embracing forest, offering
audible chorale to violet wounds, or remembrances
of first white petals, when life was summered,
or the heart was nearer noon.
Tusks of piano, tempest the soul tears of the
rivers, the beasts have cried, yet for the baritones
of vacant rush, or trebles of a weeping mother,
holdings of final sight, orchestras leaving last,
the captured elephant, of bearers young. Write with
Augustan forthright musician, the earth is asking,
forlorn arbitrations, from your grassing hands.
Life is a writing, thespian by craft, what Shakespearian
homilies we each arena, by capers of comedy, or habits we
fall upon the sword, peril of kindred, or tragedies of
heart, we reside wanton, as orbit or globe, act upon us.
How our spirits effervesce, our gain of path and paces,
sea strides or woodlands timbers, exquisite is the coppicing
of our props! Artesian artisans, our tissue that blots
the watercolors of fear, twice of all our images, fill our tears.
If by fate, single among fury, one finds the pedestals of
gratuitous limelight, bring the gavel arch to parade the
dance, but recall the step back, for we all hunger the
fervent heart of position, our tales brimming, leash of word.
Why, leaf of green porphyry,
are you mandala of summer waters,
your premonitions in ambits of verdigris,
child annulus, for it’s mother tree.
Moderating crescentic,
hollow cwm, in col of currents,
in shirr of conscience, reseda,
pinking sentiments at round roots,
nippling memories, soft cypress?
Residuals of residence, apse of sedilia
beautiful lambeth walking,
at the hora of hems, or saraband
for the ornaments,
where nearer sisters have been,
before the west works,
of middle May, rent by soiled wind,
gratuitous gatherings,
of August aspirations.
Rejiggering, there is a method in the array, a
concord from yolk to buttermilk, we merge by fine
condition, the order of nutmeg and eggnog.
Wave away the steam of coffee, by the Samuel
of ice, though we prefer books in rows, much is kept
of partnership, we too tenor steady.
When incident makes rigamarole of cabal, to the
whereby of ritual we chant, but aphids match
also, as pursers of riddles, within the bib.
Afore the tidy rows of flax, we press the linens,
hitherto the pride of red maples, is the organization
of sweet cakes, theft for smiles, share braids.
All the days of Pirouettes, on the ruffles of
St. Vitus’s dance, the tourbillion of light, the sun
in gyratory milling.
White caps in the shafts of Charybdis librate,
for the logan stone, whisks in oscillations pintle,
whirligigs of Ixion’s wheel.
There within we keep the time of teetery-bender,
hearts of soft rataplan drumming, all hope of sweet
jactations, periodic waves.
Then by reins of Morgan, or rival ribbons filly,
we furl from boundary lands, as excite birds fidget,
grant wishes of unabridged mandrel, thus still of
earth, sorjoin we addition, the planets.
~ Tao breeze through the Bristol wheat, the red
fife we collate by acre, what marshal we standard
for trim, fresh bread of syntax.
She kisses me and she permits color, even if by
discord, I offer her tangerine and pink, settlement
between Auden and gray.
How often she has led me from granite, to applying
her bandage of sky, she’s breathes for me, when I
am under water, or lilt awash of mist.
In the Dao of lavender, where I took cabal of
scent, there are the carols of fragrance in reverences
she whispers, darling’s of Hidcote, and of
Thumbelina Leigh.