A Collective Counterpoint
dreams are born in the skull,
music in the skeleton. and wild
sententiae follows the wind.
notes of assonance, the hyacinth’s syntax
buds in Hopkins.
cutting into compounds
we explore what pastures
in which land will they roll?
strewn flowers, will you carry
the scent of lovers’
in silent letters, will you tell, make visible,
the collectively felt sound
which syllabic animals graze amongst you now?
the sky tending to its pink, frame
by frame, turns its light onto burials,
onto the shimmering elision
the pulsating, in and out of focus
chiming of unfurling.
with faith in marginalia,
in the fringe of the mother-tongue,
spill from sea-blossom, green
green in snow, spill