OK, one more (God, I could post the whole damn poem.)


I built a way-too-delicate
ship-in-a-bottle and threw it
into the sea. Was it Lucky
or Sophie – or only

Titanic ox taught to float
too soon toward no one?
A wheel was borne
down to the delta (a

paddle-wheeler, lazy
catamaroon) into New
Orleans, like an ark of J
or some Degas

Isaac molded for gargoyle
atop Notre Dame. Soil-
heavy, a thrown-back

blue-gill forehead-
figured she-Marie or
Rust & Rosie O'Green
maybe – a Marian, sad-

happy-again at the
cap-tall pen-arcadia
turkey-shoot. A florid,
a rapt – windjimmirror.

Some medieval mother
wounded by arrows. Your
forged seventh to the fourth is
one loft-angle-barn green anchor.


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