EASTER 2018

 



Was it noble,



The bitter austerity of desire



 



Opposing



Viol to cello, rampant to redoubled



 



Free animals,



Phaedrus a litter of souls coupled



 



Eternally?



There was a hillside farm, a steep one. I saw it.



 



It was slow to



Perish, floating in a mist of white bees.



 



Then later,



My face became strange to me.



 



The world also.



Charioteer of wounds and bleeding,



 



What herbs might help



My dead beneath the bright wheels of thousands



 



Of you? Wild thyme



Was a man once. The upshot and noon inclined



 



To apogee,



The higher still as early Magdalene.