Unwinding, hissing, passing eons out,
ballooning flapped, elastic: time’s disease.
The years deflated under winter drought,
while oceans were reduced to antifreeze.
Through complicated wars of circumstance,
in heat and dust, a few survived. Though stiff
at first, our body-language did advance
and printed verse became a hieroglyph
and sneezed. Exotic font and serif said
it all, to modern scholars looking back
from Times New Roman, Palatine, instead
of Courier, Papyrus, Copper Black.
The future pouring over poems found
the curvature of letter minus sound.
Abeyant limbs stab the ides
with a flimsy shade,
Parked buds tumefy,
eddied in the tepid jetstream.
stand selfishly straight
and ringnecked on a pond island.
Aviary music swells
beyond its clipped wings; blankets of feathers
break over pimpled birdflesh
in recurrent waves.
Hands of internal clocks sink
to a depth of the tallest hour,
while an unconscious violet
rises with a split clitoral petal.
Snow is razored by the sun
into clean shaven slopes
and intermittent springs
rupture the ground
how winters lie.
The scarlet butte of Mexican Hat chokes
on unrelenting seasoned winds, (blew clear
through me). The huge stone sombrero shape, jokes
in sandstone, its humor drew me. Austere
walls rise to mesa’s, somber table tops,
that flatten under the skies, dropping down.
Then stair step to another level, stops,
deposited like silt, this silly town
with tourist prices, gas, deserted bar.
I met a stranded couple, (French) with brittle
nerves exposed, (the woman, nice), their car
was stalled and they just hung around a little.
Gave them a ride and finally a smile
at chance and switching hats once in a while.
Before inhaling minted atmosphere,
or we observed this clotted light through blood,
were we a pucker in the stratosphere,
a sonnet enveloped; a darling bud.
Until our crowning, did we dwell beyond
as equal subjects in normality.
Prepared for berth from voyages; re-spawned
and moored to comprehend mortality.
Perhaps emoting here we are refined
for frequencies we cannot engineer.
Intangibles forgotten, left behind,
will be expanded when we disappear.
When first in love or deep in grief’s despair,
then freed and delicate, we’re over there.
Ringing, freshly reminiscent,
wound through splotches,
burbled tumbled, gushed
tributaries flash persistent,
rolling past when
Rising rivers briskly
dams collapsing, warnings
run aground or
reveries have reached
I spent the anniversary of our
goodbye alone upon a shore with half-
moon rocks. A piece of lightning in a jar
or afternoon trapped in a photograph
could never give off light so cotton-clean
as tumbled feldspar can. How much like fruit,
or scattered ostrich eggs they are. The green
soft moss grew over some. The sluggish roots
of Ponderosa Pines had grown around
a few. Beyond a sandbar’s naked shoulder,
the place we spent all day just looking down
the river. Partly buried, there’s a boulder
we rolled together, struggling through the sand;
the windbreak for a fire we had planned.
The valleys stretch
and bow away
unzip the land
and glean the backdrop.
the sky with I-15’s
cats-eye and miles of blacktop.
through cobalt clouds,
the bands of light
are breaking prisms
caught reposed in angles.
slab of rainbow
No arc or ends,
the swatch above
parabola of sage
is flanked by storm,
dissolves and passes
on the driver’s side;
dropped from lashes,