Poetry Month's Last Day Fragment

Poetry Month’s Last Day Fragment

Of days marked by verses sung

across clocks and rulers

songs to celebrate all our gold

variously graded, finely ground

against boot marked hardwood desks

for eons of crumpled yellow tablets

and shavings of graphite hissing

anti-insouciant intensities coded

and set loose on verbal metronomes

calibrated to cross one another

without ever touching, ticks

and tocks bending past to future,

out to in:  

Per tons of crocus blossoms

dried by a million days of salty sun

wet sanding moonlit nights

held in dewdrops magnifying

dark and light within, without.

Defying all catalogs of geometry

devised to encase the dimensions

of experience without boundaries--

that world poems dance round

on fleet-footed fitting words

lifted beyond inner or outer 

encumbrances, imagined or fictitious,

frictionless finally, we hope.

JH