Bells ring as the days move toward spring now,
& bear the canker & the rose     in high noon's pentagon
of pulsing screed:     of comfort & despair
O     world     world     world     flow on,     flow on

flow on,     flow on     into the calendar--
sweet faded arbors     &     Ophelia's crown
have branched     a branded, flickering undertow
toward Jubilee.     O fearful provocation--

sundered veil!     Poor pinioned corners
bare     the harshest knife, & still     your balm
exfolds --O     silvered     Silencer!
& in the concord of     one star,     one palm

your Kosmos     mirrored now     engulfed in rest
combs,     in green isles,    your Love's     grave     crest.


Henry Gould | Island Road 81
Contents | Mudlark No. 6