Solomon the rainbow trout navigates
upstream, humming his hymn of hums;
he ponders (as he strokes his gills) Time
(timing the moonrise over Stephen's Gate).
Upstream, at the source, where crusted
snow-gargoyles begin to crack and melt.
Where a trickle slips out of a vault
of instinctual springs - a rusty
statue's melancholy beard of copper mold.
He ponders the mercurial curve of waves;
how the odd angle of a horse's neck heaves
mighty Troy-town tumbling down - such low
ambivalent ululations in that wooden fold!
The rainbow ringlets on his spine channel
a flickering repetition. Some concealed
mass of green mountain, perhaps - retold
in parabolic slopes, shapes of mirage...
Or only a pert montagnard, maybe -
very uphillery (will she ever rest?). She
is cherishing, the thought of her - a mint
montage, magnetic magma-load - the node,
the gnomon of Siena's flyting, flights.
She is that more-than-tidal measure, night's
chalk mate - mere swimming down the road
will never glom this morose mare (she climbs
limbs of Time's rim). Solomon astrologer
caught her milking the NW Passage (near
Orion, Saskatchewan) - but only in his rhymes.
more wacky wonders...