#126: Waterfall in Moonlight. December


To see the evening whole from pinprick point
you wheel the car around a farmer’s field
deposit your impressions on the apple air
amused by the ecstatic cowflops on the trail
cleansed by the white linen of moonlight
throw gemstones at the shop windows of night
which break into a hundred slivers of light
kindly irritated by the pundits of good taste
who chalk up all this underscore as waste.

Those with confidential flush have come to roost
where music scoops up feeling in a bag
to give to a midnight woman, Meadow-Hag,
who uses it to pillow her eliding bones
and dreams aloud in pastoralizing moans