68   Henry's Sleep Report

I saw a needle of strange fortitude
bolt through the vault, like     a mosquito farming
the blue     or unstable sable-yellow feathered
hornet's trumpet vine's     metamaterial     barnstorming--

an M     an S     whirled--miles over that tangled isle
like a bull's-eye of assassinated     justice
in the court of angels,     or     long-lost medal
of stolen honor, or     incarnadine boomerang of unbound     bliss--

&     this tiny cantilevered carriage     pricked the skies
across a verdant constellation--     binding the said
sad impress,     blessing     with mourning eyes
& pity,     spanning,     spinning across     with ruby thread--

& so     your guileless disguise     prevailed     on high, as
you unwound     your own     4th of July

Henry Gould | Island Road 69
Contents | Mudlark No. 6