Winding down 2nd chapter of Fontegaia poem. Finally found some time to work on it.


Herds of autumn leaves like red-
gold seahorse-centaurs race now
(ceremonially) toward the ground.
The pennants of each neighborhood

of every hilltop Tuscan town strive
to outdo themselves. Cocky rivalry
of pennate foliage - circadian chivalry
of bagpipes, droning in a restive hive.

Numb roots of the trees still thirst
toward snow. In the centaur's heart
(a horse chestnut at the center
of the swirling hubbub's hum) a wasted

wasp, forsaken, crawls toward the border
of bridled boudoir, fainting, slow...
Ajax burdened with an axle-wheel,
a naked mule dragging a suitor's quarrel.

Omphalos moat, dawn water
for the dying. The river's fluting
now. Last leg of labyrinthine fling.
A drone flotilla (shrivelled to mutter)

accompanies her fluent aria
with muted paddling of tender feet
round aureole-knoll called Complete
(knot drawn tight; flight's last cry).

The mingled alloys of the leaves say
near, near. Profile of a referee
at apex of the cobweb-tracery
of Palio and round-dance (planetary) -

sliver-shadow of the solar One,
lanternglow of pulsing jockey-Jacques;
a morsel of the moon in parallax,
a ripple in the stream (yon Hobo's hon).

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