Prudent Vesture

Growing on mountains, swift hewers
escape the morning glow of appointed
rhetoric, hands condensed before
the hour of determination, tears swallow
expounded controversy, scourging plainly
in place of pitiful goodness.

Naturalized; two issues,
tucked away in cheek pouches, without being frightened,
without loathing indiscretions, tantivy sword knots
encumber, fashion hints, fabricate sincerity,
miss the mark of guileless incorruption
upon resting morning stars and twiddling
despots in orange magic scarfs
and elative beams.

Standing guard over costly reputations, under
elliptic roofs made from branches, twigs,
sticks of ivory and marquisette feather stitches,
she is laughing at bears in the sky,
at green hills in a foreign land, she is laughing
at swiss watches made from grain, from stolen
shards, from distinguished timber. Houses made
of clay elope beneath her feet. She is not
ready. She retires too soon.

Distance in the sagittal plane surrenders, to pockmarks
and repressed factories. She is might.
She is rising again, to window crest
mountains and timber that won’t be dismissed,
for Saturdays, for joy. She has a new
watch, no tears, no pity but indirectly
we cower beneath the balcony,

for funeral marches in grand cascading rhythm,
trumpets and juke boxes and carousel wheels
typing out the day.

She flies
but insists
she isn’t going away