Alchemisland

At rest

My bones

Innermost piping.

At best

My poems

Middlemost climb

Bedpost high only

One eye alone descries

Their broke fiddler tone.

A finger stoneless

What lingers of that no’d proposal.

Somewhere voice-bare no one else goes there

Fiery quiet, fair and admirably foliate

Light roseate. Enfolding irises eye holding

Yellow as Carcosa’s minaret’s heights;

Yellow as fingertips cigarette-striped.

Purple clovers bees like

I watched a plover brave the Moses-holding shallows of the wash a while

Flowers ignited like nodes greening to signal active, flowing power

Upon which reposed dozing dragonflies, come the hour of their flight

As day’s hail-curtailing might sours blithely to high-railinged night.

Like the architecture of a thing, their intersecting

Wings projected splayed finger hints onto a river section

Nameless and exceptional; the maneless heath surreally conceptual

Bereft feature. The plainly sexual deeps of the moor’s Ypres-bare reaches

The leached chalk’s unwalked neatness deleted by bleached stalks leaning

Like preening hawks.