Bells ring as the days move toward spring now,
& bear the canker & the rose in high noon's pentagon
of pulsing screed: of comfort & despair
O world world world flow on, flow on
flow on, flow on into the calendar--
sweet faded arbors & Ophelia's crown
have branched a branded, flickering undertow
toward Jubilee. O fearful provocation--
sundered veil! Poor pinioned corners
bare the harshest knife, & still your balm
exfolds --O silvered Silencer!
& in the concord of one star, one palm
your Kosmos mirrored now engulfed in rest1.17.97
combs, in green isles, your Love's grave crest.
Henry Gould | Island Road 81
Contents | Mudlark No. 6