From above, the diamond burns
ever more beautiful wounds, the stitcher's thread
a cure for the bright act.
The river wavers because the viewer wobbles,
the head its own way to see
snakes and letters.
Shine me on over light-fingered
ladies, their gentlemen lifted by old wings
a toe’s-breadth above turbid currents
below which blind muck-lurkers
poke feet of claw.
How many thousand feints,
hundred dead falls,
range cheek by elbow, acre lines
overlapping plots families draw,
knot by knot, among their grudges.
Cities bright as sousaphones in winter
greet dawn’s new filament
with an oomph and an oomph and
an oom pah pah. Good time! Good news!
Good road not yet cracked with green,
earth girded by meets,
loosened for goodbye.
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