“A poet is a nightingale, who sits in darkness and sings to cheer its own solitude with sweet sounds.” -Percy Bysshe Shelley
Tuesday, August 16, 2016
Queen of Sheeba (legend)
Nee of the redwood(ed) hollow
birds of paradise weep,
by the little red nikita
swings on the leeway
across the lagoon,
so soon for a Februist
insisting
all water is life
look, brackish was where
the recombination of atomic diffraction
chromeatopea and spore
makes love in plumes
and lays (be)low, muffled (be)lies
that whole time
she never saw the aviators soar
up,
up,
up,
and waste our days.
Painting By Arkhip Kuindzhi (1842-1910), Forest Swamp (http://kuinje.ru/peizag.php) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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