2.03.2004

my gizmo chariot for some time was an abba quatrain. this is not an abba quatrain, but it is a short poem. (Orfy on his way, down & under.)


Bees dance above closed lips:
in the clear shadow of the oak
wherever they turn their heads
they follow the bright pattern.


Quietly, by the granite cistern
under a crowded canopy of reds,
in the cool wind a broken spoke
sways whichever way it slips.


[note: broken chariot wheel, Virgilian bees]

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