Look high up into the silent ubiquity of stars
and think. A razor’s-edge sky no more,
now, just lucid memory – the skinn’d-knee’d part
of the year, draughting, droughting, doffing
her news like the chevrier’s cap
to tip toward fresher dawns.
They spread themselves
out like white currents in black jam – a deft,
thick parade of something always bigger than
it’s last time. Daylight, tapped out,
waits for instructions.
Who’s news wrote herself of such worthy
stock as to preen in lace-ribbon’d journals,
the fare of hired kings, hourly queens?
Let the moated whims of the fanciful
remind you of marshmallow mouths,
full-brandied, shuffling through
the shared coastlines of care.
Look far to the dual horizons of east from west,
wrong from pragmatic, and shudder full-wing’d
in the concentrated machinery of memory.
Is this a constancy of preparedness?
A repetition of verses, repeated, repeated again –
enough to repeal your doubts and reassign
Lean forward looking back, standing full upright.
Tell us what you would feign otherwise to see.