Sans Net

        

 SANS NET

Providence through library windows

like a snow-globe, from inside.

Out there, nowhere to hide,

sans avocat (nobody knows

the trouble) shiver-racked shades

flaked from sleek sound

systems... fine-ground,

filtered grit-roles (nice blades).

The stone man on the hill

stands for our good Will,

we ghosts – here, still

until yon Cain-&-Abel tale’s

fulfilled.  & by the New Year’s

bubbly lens (our frothy

yea all ears attend) we

spy, at last, Apollinaire’s

yew bend, en camouflage – a pine

amid the armèd greens,

a thorn among has-beens –

aiming toward you : like a sign

in the sky... like a snowflake

stand-in for Solomon,

dancing (all-human,

now).  She be your wordless music,

harmless bairn – your New Year’s

resolution, justified... your

mangy, invisible bride –

bright Pegasus, short Wain (snow tears).

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