Mathematics was never so pliable
as blossom leading to comfort of apples
the oar of a strophic victory
in soaking magazine pages
effortless, desultory, I'll flick
ash or lashes into line
(while I must not victimise
any shining knight may do)
shrugging off patronage, to
bolt into arms, strong-spun,
you calculate something of infinity
ignoring your vacatory split
rowing through dense orchards
a resolution of armouries
mosaicing rings of Saturn.
A losing trade in meteorites
can't help your belief;
does this equation of the Grail
extenuate the plough?