Accord, and: Promise of Balance, and: Diffraction, and: Love Note, and: Iridoprocene Bicolor

Accord, and: Promise of Balance, and: Diffraction, and: Love Note, and: Iridoprocene Bicolor

Accord

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

—Dylan Thomas

I

When you hear the words flood Doctor's mouth,
tumor,

cancer,
six months,
you pull inside.

Out here
in the ice water
of death's coming,

I work the room,
your relatives,
your appointments,

your foods,
take your phone calls,
dismiss the sightseers.

I figure-eight
your wallflower
walls—

You peel back
layers of
black cancer,

its moist sacks
where your lungs
accordion.

We cry alone.
Crows come,
You say, every night.

You say, as fast as I peel It's back; I can't keep up. The crows levitate me, you say.

II

Nothing to be done.
You turn
Shutdown your energy.

III

There are no flowers here. Red, orchid,
yellow-bright
like an exotic bird,
I want feathers
in every color.
I want to swallow
color,
breathe color,
I want light's return
Inside me.

Promise of Balance

Yellow bird
urges the tent
as wind
in moonlight
articulates
her dream's spirits.

I bleed,
I shiver
on difficult ground.

Yellow bird urges
night's skin.
This dream being fire.
There you are
Mother, dead.
There you are
Husband, dead.
Never will lips
be warm again.

I kiss the canvas houses
of your bodies again,
again I kiss,
I kiss again,
I kiss again.

I follow migratory paths
back through all
my 16,796 sunrises—
find music's
tumble water
over stone.

Diffraction

Sedan pulses through stop sign
silver hood and windshield between
his eyes, my eyes,
and then, and then, and then
his tires take me under

It's a slow motion,
elongated story—
the light spread through slits

My eyes close, allowing me
to speak to you.
From behind their blinders,
I see your glare diffused.

Love Note

Her desk, first
in the third row,
sun reaches through
south windows, warms
her black hair.

He sees dust motes sequined
from his place two rows over
and, because he is tall,
in the back of the room.

It is after noontime recess.
Teacher intones of old Italian coins
to pique interest in some detail
of decimal addition.

In this dream,
the classroom
light spun to gold
filigree thread,
she turns around
cannot look away.

He sees her stand,
wade through mineral
toward him
her arms wide open—

And now the bell is ringing.

Iridoprocene Bicolor

This Puck, this heart-shaped spray
Of bluish-green-and-white
Is a sparrow, a dart-like arrow
Sprung from its tree-cavity nest.

This Cupid's pollinated flower
Placed upon her breast:
Family iridaceae from rhizomes,
Gladiolus, lily, freesia—

Or corms, like iris, ixia, crocus.
Which is it?

Poor Helena, her eyes iridoncus.
And Hermia crying too.

Under the spell, Titania
Loves the ass

Shakespeare's drama but a dream.

This heart, Sparaxis, iridaceous
(pert,) (saucy,) (fresh):
A wandflower, tufted spikes
Of tiny white
Glossy heart-shaped leaves
In autumn iridescent, copper to maroon—