for CF Clark

We begin from her breached beginning:
Nightfallen flamingos statued
printed on heels of indigo
proud and high;

Leading toward prior unknown
muscles coated in coconut—
There is a wound;
There is a wound I found along her glacial cap—
Who put this here!
where I can see pain,
the vain bruising?

Cover; cover gone below the curtain
at the waist
who grips the slit
and draws my eyes
reflecting the comfortable blackness,
demise of silt and growth of light.

Moving my fingers,
—those splintering peninsulas—
toward her garden of earthly delights,
where is their water…

Ah! only below the bellowing blouse
who hangs from the trappings in her face,
that of Barbauld’s mouse,
petite and slight,
admirable—in a way my hand cannot know—
though, I attempt.

The capstone glimmers,
traversed over sea and sand
from the crown of lioness, warm, estrus,
and now rooted in the mind
—both hers and mine—
and now I know how she became so bright.

Too, I know how I may fall,
my yearning grunts in the sky,
blows plumes to fill our day
with grammar of this moment I will share.


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