From a mountain on a snow-sprinkled field
Every shade of coolness opened
An avenue falling different to the eye.
Stuck betwixt the blinking ships
Months later they were strangers or other machinery
Yes, betwixt, and busy traversing
The Bermuda Triangle. Your sister
From within the chief’s urchin look
Hinted at all we knew. Beyond the helm
Air-braiding gulls brought a cry from the dead.
Ten years in a junket, plotting her demise
Through oval spectacles on a holiday
Over crumpets and trumpets in the ghoulish
Silent. Frost on the baseball diamond rimed.
Not like those happy days for obscurantism,
Doctors in black coats rushing through halls.
Please leave the garage, the mimeograph said,
Illness of the princess, coasting and shining.
Yourself in the gargantuan billboard of night
At the high garden the pole is emptying
Where the dream went when you awoke,
Uninterrupted in the bird’s speech.
Not like that other diseased world
Where warblers stamp as they croon
Longingly toward the moon. Pastries dry
At the maid’s waist by a sill until
Through the lit web of a smashed window
All imaginings meet their nemesis, and
The world is bright in the light of one to come.