The last snow before Easter.
Sophie’s footprints etch
a squarish spiral sketch...
still photo (lento, Bruegelish faster).
From long distance, every
bird’s-eye view can fuse
with every other (sans
confusion). Each waltzing orrery
links hands in Sydney – under those figs
whose natural majesty
anchors her panoply,
a fractal Dr. Octahydra (sky-digs
of Southern Cross, O dusky lady).
Bends toward akme
of the starfish now, Henry.
Meteor Hurtle Aboriginal Day.
The stone fell (odd fellow, ultramarine).
Fey otter – furry,
sleek as raven-eel –
into the gilded net of Saarinen
(Sibelius? Some other fin).
Architrave swept (over
agile Harry Grizzly (buoy-woman,
boo-hoo – smoking Camel,
him calumet). A Caliban
or Cain (Abel). A Son
of Man – sad Prospero (blithe Ariel
is in the pine). Where be the porpoise
here, Dauphin? Your plow
scratches the surface now.
Her keen lengthens toward Paradise
(swell memory of Outremer).
The palm-lines slacken,
ease... shade thickens then
toward Wingy Rock (you know where,
Coatlicue). The cedar forest
where the monarch dies,
my speech, for its spooky taste
of dead bees (Finnish sacrifice).
There’s the arch, like
a prow (turn on the mike
now). Spin the jenny, throw the dice.
Snow mantles the martyr’s tomb.
Green lichen dome
where breakers foam
from galaxies of Mendelssohn (home
run). I don’t know where to go
from here. The scared poem
swims down Rio del Hum
until your blues become a hollow
rhumba-Rome (flight-bud unknown).
Whispers vespers... purrs.
Her bop-team be yours,
egg-woman (inner-tube pontoon).