IRMA’S FLING
Sly Raven implicates my speech
with folded shade. A bright
dove spangles dew-light
drifting the stream. On the beach
by Mississippi, one yellow-black ensign
of cottonwood, one limestone
arrowhead. An unknown
bird hums wings into a grey spine-
feather matrix – hovers droning
like yellow gyroscope
(totem for sun). Hope
is the thing... the Word spins honing
like a drill toward a red diamond,
flaking hieroglyphs
& copper cypress skiffs
for one crossroad encounter (bond
of your voice, speaking soft to me,
from vise of mine). Zone
of Mendelssohn tombstone –
of flint, cracked open for humanity –
to pour through like sprung torrent
& never cease flowing,
as when a raven crowing
from an empty cave (craven, abhorrent)
signals a seed flung by a planet’s wing –
smiles through the sea-gate
like Peacock Angel – fate
spannered by a checkmate (Irma’s Fling).
8.2.16
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