05.12.2014

Twenty-Third Amantia Ode: New Tatters

The great spastic glass of the sun
in winter’s going glare.

::

Wind’s antic helicoid
winding upward through the tree.

Agitations.

A
web’s
sinews’
yellow
radiance.

::

Circles of wind rapture
the young hawk flashes through.
A robin’s nest she stops
to plunder.

::

Easter moon
that blooms above a reef of cream.

Vernal silver the house is steeped in.

::

Soaring vulture’s shadow dowsing
the hillside’s sunlight—

Others roosting. Wings in hieroglyph
a glossy pitch
engraves.

::

I need that noonday moon
hanging in the sky.

::

The sawing strokes a warbler sings.

::

What is this
anteworldly lunar syrup
spores of life course along
cresting through the thawed crust
mayapples like seaside parasols shelter
in spring shade?

::

An oriole narrating his involvement with some blossoms.

::

That house sparrow splash landing in the lilacs.

::

August evening’s earlier ending
when thought itself sublimes.

::

Talk’s vanishing esses in the cicadas’ cycling ratchets.

::

New Day Rising

Sun on pine.
Morning’s glittering indices.

“This stuff is Ice Age.”

::

Those
bluejays’
new day’s
relayed
jeers.

::

waning lustrous late autumnal sun
wind’s distant engine roar

::

Three monostiches

i. Lakeshore’s bluish dusk mid-November dims down.

ii. That’s the lake’s glaucous glass a cormorant’s invisible vortex scratches.

iii. An accidental eternity the lake’s waves swell with mist enlumes in aerosol.

Peter O'Leary (© 2014)