| Iris Eyes You are the ripe, luscious moon, platinum and delicate as a garden onion. You are bold and impossible– molten solar embrace, as clear as the amber eyes of the continent. Under your palms– the islands of rye and flaming plumes of cormorants. Within your airy expiration, the procession of each beast and precious bloom in the whole of their continuance. Dewey soil and sheer granite support you. Soft covered with vegetable loam, set into shape under the hardened feet of a proud succession of noble ancestors. You are riotous, sensual trumpets of rams crashing into fast comets after a short little nap. Swans beat hard light into silver plates in your morning cool chamber. You listen, tender throats stream cantons into glazed porcelain beads for you. You smile, sitting light on the floodgates, laughing out of all the ancient races. Incendiary satisfaction glows open as a blazing bud inside the canary, unfurled on your shining face, glancing like the hidden face of Mercury’s daughter moon. Is there nothing to lay garment, silken over the brassy flash of your ovaling landscape? Clear cut consecration sheds purpling pleasure like a candles hot shine on your iris eyes. written in January 21st, 2001 |