The great spastic glass of the sun
in winter’s going glare.
::
Wind’s antic helicoid
winding upward through the tree.
Agitations.
A
web’s
sinews’
yellow
radiance.
::
Circles of wind rapture
the young hawk flashes through.
A robin’s nest she stops
to plunder.
::
Easter moon
that blooms above a reef of cream.
Vernal silver the house is steeped in.
::
Soaring vulture’s shadow dowsing
the hillside’s sunlight—
Others roosting. Wings in hieroglyph
a glossy pitch
engraves.
::
I need that noonday moon
hanging in the sky.
::
The sawing strokes a warbler sings.
::
What is this
anteworldly lunar syrup
spores of life course along
cresting through the thawed crust
mayapples like seaside parasols shelter
in spring shade?
::
An oriole narrating his involvement with some blossoms.
::
That house sparrow splash landing in the lilacs.
::
August evening’s earlier ending
when thought itself sublimes.
::
Talk’s vanishing esses in the cicadas’ cycling ratchets.
::
New Day Rising
Sun on pine.
Morning’s glittering indices.
“This stuff is Ice Age.”
::
Those
bluejays’
new day’s
relayed
jeers.
::
waning lustrous late autumnal sun
wind’s distant engine roar
::
Three monostiches
i. Lakeshore’s bluish dusk mid-November dims down.
ii. That’s the lake’s glaucous glass a cormorant’s invisible vortex scratches.
iii. An accidental eternity the lake’s waves swell with mist enlumes in aerosol.
One response to “Twenty-Third Amantia Ode: New Tatters”
[…] new things up at the Cultural Society. A sequence of poems, Twenty-Third Amanita Ode. And an essay-review of Robert Duncan’s The H.D. Book, called “Doxemic […]