Fontegaia has inched along to a certain perihelio-pivot-point...

15

 
To think it was there all along,
in the penumbra of an eclipse
run backward.  Time-warps
in super-8s.  Ping-pong

 
tournaments in the driveway.
Frisbee trials in a reed canoe
tracing rainwater U-turns
across Mendelssohn.  Someday

 
will compile an anthem
(first mosey to last
jaunt, red moon-mist
to fountain-columbarium) -

 
the magnetic smile of the wave
of your hand athwart the crib
(hoist in an oscillating jib
of mobile sails) shall save

 
that glancing moonlit fleet
(typing a reel above temblors
rumbling beneath your tumbled
bed) for a peculiar mirror-feat.

 
Where the weary mutter of an unknown 
Everyworm touches the catenary arc 
of suspended charity... O sparkling
triple-ballet turn - blue ozone

 
flame!  The furious horserace here
meets end to end, in a carousel
for a pigeon's talisman - wells
from a homing throat (All Clear).