~ after Remedios Varo, "Alegoría del invierno (Allegory of Winter)," 1948; Yucca brevifolia Pheasant and nuthatch, five-petaled flower, emerald feather suspended in veils--- we don't know how long the world can hold such specimens of tenderness, how far the glacial drifts can ferry such tombs, immaculate, before they themselves turn into ghosts--- Everything writhes before the dream discards what it calculates for reduction: and yet the yucca moth delivers its eggs inside the flower, even as leaves sharpen their bayonet-points. At dusk, we scan the horizon for anchors and tents; we lean into the wind hungry for the brass tinkle of hawk bells and the trance-like drone of hegelong. If we split these reeds down their length, how many of us can ride out the coming flood before sunlight returns or we've softened into moss?
Purveyors of fine poetry since 2003.
