VESPER

Because the gift plucked from Earthward
(from ourselves) assuages human tears

those crimson ancient streams of years
close th'focus of eternity upon th'cricket bard

who, poised upon his momentary, brittle earthly twig
Poetry, spills mouthfuls of inebriate Song

over the listening select few in Th'Throng
of many an ordinary fellow foliage grig

(in th'pollen-goose boughs & fairy-dust'd Roses
of Th'Magical powd'ry Dawn) aren't too-early an elegy

th'sunbeams/wraiths of Heavenward Fury
chant without end as Existence closes

they are (& what inspirations aren't?) hieroglyphics-dreams
of Love (isn't Th'Gift?) all-Marjoram & Marlinespike

(but The Gift-Giver)... considerations petaled alike
& flowered hued Fragrances of jejune Nature's schemes

Full Scores! of easy consummating rustlings
Symphonic Nature embracing with the facility

of Song th'never-ending Dawn's yet dark eternity
across its florid/fluid self-fulfillment unravelling

out of its inner being scarf-like Pledge
& manner-of-puzzle Resurrection (never the less

chained) chained to Wide Water's bitterness
we dwell on dying --yet at The Sepulchre's dry edge!

some nameless insect rears his Will (which yells
Life's music which Death's cosmic Gloom dispels)

still (denying, still O The Providence of Might)
Will is our Magnificence, Humanity's ambitious Breadth

spreading to The Light, never giving in to Th'Sybarite Night
of moon mysteriousness over Ego's kiss to O, Death

All... all, as we from earthward surface:
ourselves because of Day's ever-approaching auroral

billowing ineffable reproach & the aural
whispering luxurious & superfluous diction of sassafras

old conversations unrolling The Human bale
above th'symposiac everything used is used-up: Voice's hoary rot

merging with all th'murmurs coming together, caught
fading & is consumed into Evening's moist moonlit trail

th'honeyed meeting place unknown because th'basilical honeycomb
named Darkness & named Love because so misunderstood is strewn

mortal mold! 'neath th'cool-mist crowned New Moon
over Th'Musty Bloom where-in's th'chirpy cricket's home

from ourselves (feelings) many marigolds/colors spill
from Earthward, from those mortal human Feelings which Soul

(having survived Th'Night) accompanies on their stroll
amongst Midmorning's thrills consuming the nil's yet lingering

chill cry: Salvation! at the coming of the inevitable Night,
at the closing of the Light once seemingly everlasting

... Salvation because The Gift of Love is such
that grape-vine Nature's honeysuckled dews

taste of sweet lemony Shades whereto Love's Song pursues
us Will at its height of self-expression--Mind's mellowest Hush

of humble inner-Matter: where it exists, exists absolutely
within being's bounds, though Space be eternal (Life

may be impersonal--yet Your Life is valid: since Validity

itself is but to call ANYTHING a part of Life

human: Th'brash Cricket's Show's a smash!

because) Night may be Dark but O life's a flash!