January lies on manscape as on the landscape
skeletal and bare, yet bee neath the warmth of mulch piled high,
worm does not fret that earth is colder than when Eve was tricked
by tape long stranger, and Adam broke fruit dropping into waiting earth,
evil seed that would root forever.
January is like a barren womb, yet still
coils of would be green dream of belfry awakenings,
Sun to ring new heat, old heat that makes the continents
and oceans, too, spin kaleidoscopic, silver shekels to the bride,
her bonnet she let flies, she unbridled relieved of garter and of girdle.
No comments:
Post a Comment