SMOKY DEER UNDERGROUND PRAYS IN FALLING SEPULCHRAL LIGHT
(After Tim Lilburn, while shining my halo)
The deer, folding, and folding, like nippled accordions growing bismuth
Shadows clear under declensions of John Stuart Mill's laborious
Forehead .... ahh! Fistfulls of elm shavings.
The Light of the fields, Light of the fields, Light of the fields,
The phlox flummoxed in mossy willows, down, down,
Gemstrewn sky under I ache, moon filtertipped and smoking a bangle.
Hooded wasp, hay-fevered river, we submit, low sounds, say no more,
Under earth's dark limestone, Augustine sleeping by the tree's knees,
Laxative oblations propositioning, prepositioning the willow's sad hauteur.