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

27

 
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).