IRIS-TURTLE
The curve of the river twines the curve
of the path, they skip together
downstream. Warm autumn weather
clears the mind a little (light mauve
asters nodding under cottonwoods).
The poem’s woven trace
catches the vif, the grace
of movement – Berkeley’s moods
in Paradise (Newport)... his eyes
commingling a million
threads beneath the sun
into a massive sky-warp of surprise –
Daphne’s comb or seaweed wave
of tears (the patient laurel
lifts gnarled arms from Hell
into the marrow of yawning grave).
The living mind, the raven-shadow
of Platonic iris-turtle... Venn
diagram or madrigal (ken
you my mosey-keening yet?) – below
the longing of the galaxies,
their milky sarabande –
a spectrum of star-sand,
poured from hand to hand. He’s
just daydreaming of Marina now
(sea-daughter, blithe naiad
of Taurida) – be glad
you’ve followed his light-dancing prow.
9.30.16
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