Fontegaia, winding up...


Lakewater used to lap the shore
where a lonely scholar turned her back
on the glaring blare. Awake, awake,
the water whispered. Try once more.

To penetrate to the smiling target
through a knot of jungle vines (concentric
rings of shimmery spectra - pastel Olmec
mimosa crest of feathery waves - a coronet

of birds of Paradise)... and begin to hear
the granite roar of a Lake Victoria, falling
from the sky. Where all the rivers are
recoiling foam, seething, moist - cleft, sheer...

as if the sigh of some Red River
of the North, encircled, echoed
upon an equatorial green. Golden
ordinance, bell-governance - Love's

Admiral of the Ocean Sky, looped down
and knotted to a limping sailor. Neptune-
child - inept, familiar shadow's Chaplin-
quest - your errant, midnight son...

a wandering hobo-star, a Francis-mule,
a river-freebooter (plain flaw, a-flow).
Touch the keyboard, star, she whispered. So.
Out of a hole in the rainbow donut, foolish

one, it flows (beyond the garish ceremonies
of the day). O sleepy wake of Everymoon...
you are my Ocean, streaming light, a crooning
dog-star Orient; the only sweetness of the seas.

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