COUNTERPOINT

drowsy scansion
of the sycamore’s
crown, December’s
migrant penury

its vagrant trace
separating
from my lone idea

not a bell though
it rings
(or seems to ring,
when I hold it
above my breath’s
bold tocsin)

the leading edge
cast before
the stone auditors

I bind my eyes
to the abridgement

the tomb
& the garden
amniotic w/insight

make a record
of the time change
(that occult imprint)
declining

as some new Latin

the canopy trusts
its measure toward