Semi-Optic
The sun’s immense geranium
is squashed against the screen.
Seduced by the siren
of the river’s closing eye,
I approach like the willows, our
shredded woes along the bank,
and dilate in the drift
toward the sea’s flowering shore.
Pelicans radiate with language,
a swamp hen draws an arc.
All afternoon, I go blind
in dense, green light.
My fear erupts sporadically
in a flurry across the bowl.
Underneath, ripples fan from a gentle elbow
where a miniature star might reside—
until those hidden convictions gnaw it to pieces
then flee, like the fingers of an opening palm,
through the streets of this liquid town. |