Some more Font-mumble.

26

 
There was a voice whispering in the jungle.
Beneath fitful circles of mosquitoes.
A circuiting, a hum.  Longueurs of river-
moss, a silvery cirque - one angle-vector,

 
ivory.  Gray wave-splash in the backwash,
tidal gravity - where ingots of gold repent
to silver minae, copper mites; a stream-
bent parallax (Mammon to mimosa's

 
spectrum crown).  Summer's looming
honey locust.  Beside babbling brook
within Babylon book, cornered Acorn
John (gold oueil of Pequod-flummery).

 
A cold profession shipped sail
from paint-filled windy coin,
whirligig realm (your own);
Caesar's wilderness, or Israel?

 
Rome was not built in a dhou
nor moon pent in a milkweed-
pod, my friend - its cresting mead
dandled bumblebee's black-yellow

 
elephant-flight (copper periplus).
From such minimal rock lifted
bright wave of Abraham (soft
aching moss cribbed in papyrus

 
hippo-pot).  Archimedean Medusa
levers each flock with a simple kiss.
Its longing-latitude equals this -
hers be the heartache.  Hers the pieta.