[One night, opening in foil]

One night, opening in foil
seven oxen stars pull apart—
one night, one even says hope—
I beat into his chest a call,

into the red rotundas of his chest
But no one can
hold a hope so long—there’s relief.

(“Even from passion?” ask the fainting eucalyptus
with your passing)

The leaves buckle;
the backdrop befriends blunt night;
halt; a knock for the clown—
his mat is round again; halt,
from hard earth throbs
a finger lifts a dew
in which a clean pigeon hangs.

Sonnet

Worms you know
my history of loose beginnings,
tacked because there is no esteem at the root
for sadness, since flowers focused us

One is pushing long honed claws of pineapples
to come out through shoulder-tops, hills and sea-breast
swells: this one smells of mermaid hair,
fair warning

I am rounding them up
In useless armor
To an old tune

Sharp play pierces home
Glitter in the gills of hills