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Of Lost Time And Avalanches

“ I took pains to determine the flight of the crock – tailored birds;

Marking which were of the right by nature,
And which of the left …,
And what were their of living, each other his kind,
And the cometies and affections that were between them,
And how they consorted together …

“Prometheus Vinctus”

The force
That turns this green
To a flocked conclusion
The force that turns the secret wheel
That weaves
The spiders web
And spreads the leaf
To receive the dew drop

Your strange invisible ways
You flow into my room
As silent silk in light
Incandescent through the lattice work
As moss on blind stone
And shrouded by pale girls

A grain of sand
Conceives the pearl
Out of the longings
In the oysters hearts
Inside the blanched surprised shell

The brush of a bird’s wing
Ruffles the still air
A blade of grass
Feels the weight of a fallen petal
As I
Your weightless
Nothing’s ways.

The day comes in through the lamps
With filigreed threads of phantom gold
Between the frenzied threads
Unheard can take strings

A blush of rose on virdigree
A glance of shadowed opal
The sequined lilies
Their sly painted faces
Bestoned on the blue
Faces dancing
In parenthesis
Of moon ripples
Courting the butterfly’s
Release of embers
On wings
Of arrested stardust
The time of the voyager
When chameleons stay cool and unchanged
On the mottled stone

The world
A blaze of light
Hot glittering glass
And solar white
In invocation
Of your southern fever

The beams
Invert themselves
Bill – hollowed
Orchestered as hot Bach
The leaves
Crisp and dry
As Florentine scallops
From flaky ancient frescoes
Fall on the grass
And burn
And yet
The world still turns
Between two unhinged stars
A distance
Which I travel
A space to cross
And re-cross

And you
Your smile
As pure as Kandinsky
Eye lake
Of pale fire
And hot ice
Sea furnace
And all too knowing