latest Lady poem
Niello
The flush
tapestry of thinking leaves
hung just so by Henri Rousseau.
The acorn peeks through its
foreskin in peopled prosperity.
The sparrow, aplumb in hormones
slings its song, nourishing rosin
message in sunlight.
The sparrow waddleshakes and bathes
in padded static on the driveway,
a shrine of shallow ripples
on a pointillist radio.
I’m ever on the halfway stretch,
the exigency of a foothold purchase,
pulling fruit through the shadow shape
that floods its faithful containment field,
the torch forwards the apple in its
swaddled pillow of tunnel.
A purring car rafts a bough of freeway
through the whump whump of analog.
The backseat baby’s sated gaze
regards the niello of roadlights streaming
in the liquid night.
Be the light of every flying, bend the knee
on the now of the heart, expect good.
Be baby reaching for the mobile of stars
turning from the ceiling night.
– Lady, 9.12.2020
