First reeds at the pathside became vocal
then the dunes’ curve met the curvature
inside my eye. I saw Polaris become
five-pointed, and red pines closed the sky
as bluebells opened it. This is vision country.
As to where my horse is, my steed of good
deeds and satchel of bad lemons, or how
my head became a tuning fork in a thicket,
I’m too busy to answer. The alder’s summer
is speckled and short-stalked; the blackbird
parades its reds; nuthatches dangle down.
Linger with me; step out of your swivet.
Be mind-muddied a while, and temple-robbed.
Be lullabied by the music of far-off bells.
Appeared originally at Verse Daily.