Metapoetics

Among a flume and a flowering bed
and I laid watching stars dim —
to space athirst and with darkness —
growing and desiring — an ardent one.

When the moon’s veil dropped
in the grove of soul laying I was,
carried by that hidden force;
ascended unto the ethereal at once.

A scree of this barrow laid,
wearing a coat of silver light,
glittering upon the cobblestones,
icy in the shadows yet warm.

Pervaded the air that laurel scent,
faring with a breeze chill— so soft,
darted in the branches and hummed,
moonlit sing to a vaulted night.

Ascetic on the earthly had I been,
secluded, naught but peace I sought,
I foresaw in some innocent eyes
vengeance dole in timeless lust
when shy orbs chanced and met,
besotted, into dunce I sunk,
relenting like some wild bird,
wherefore a baffling mystery still,
to my aroused thunder-soul.

SO:

Vigil, I keep in these nightly glooms
to bring afire all lanterns of love.
Ironwood, red in every hue flushed
shy upon the arrival of spring?
winter quenched, are these verses too
as watered by my fevering soul
generous in her sweated drops.

The God of love—the glances shot
from the dark quivers of her orbs,
arrows now blossoms in my chest,
so terse, I scribe my tender verse;
godly as her lofty hip.