Fontegaia has inched along to a certain perihelio-pivot-point...


To think it was there all along,
in the penumbra of an eclipse
run backward. Time-warps
in super-8s. Ping-pong

tournaments in the driveway.
Frisbee trials in a reed canoe
tracing rainwater U-turns
across Mendelssohn. Someday

will compile an anthem
(first mosey to last
jaunt, red moon-mist
to fountain-columbarium) -

the magnetic smile of the wave
of your hand athwart the crib
(hoist in an oscillating jib
of mobile sails) shall save

that glancing moonlit fleet
(typing a reel above temblors
rumbling beneath your tumbled
bed) for a peculiar mirror-feat.

Where the weary mutter of an unknown
Everyworm touches the catenary arc
of suspended charity... O sparkling
triple-ballet turn - blue ozone

flame! The furious horserace here
meets end to end, in a carousel
for a pigeon's talisman - wells
from a homing throat (All Clear).

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