A small tree (almond, dogwood) flowering in your eyes
leafs through my spine, speaks volumes (my needle betrays).

Maple leaf like a reef of sharp-eyed coral
or hand cut by a blue glass frisbee
(your hand shakes: it's constitutional in our society)
insinuating states of etats-unis
or "marriageable rose some truant lips annul"

That sheepdog would play in my summer's unruly realm
but then she's furred as well for wolfish winter
(one sheepshank: constellational insanity)
A stratagem of light nips & barks     scotch banter &
morning roads are opening     in her ample palm

& everywhere this Love comes home to me!
as every island road leads to the sea.

Henry Gould | Island Road 9
Contents | Mudlark No. 6