In a Station of the Metro

Peace fell on the dim lands a sort of abstraction

The metronome counted one petal after another

So the petals fell as or in some music

This song needs no breath just an apparition

With a mouth open and eyes and eyes

The wet smear of eyes beneath pink

Petals in excess of the window frame’s bright

Yellow square and yes spring gathers right now

The moisture from my breath up into clouds

Whose downpour makes of the plum tree in blossom

A diminishing crowd for which the natural symbol

Refuses to exist a plain blue gem on a pin

Faces glowing within the stone like flowers

Within the stone like flaws the mind turns inward

Turns inward its tangle of wet black boughs

A knot pulled tight so tight it ceases to be

A knot yes I’ll say it a knot that becomes angelic

Another example everywhere seen of the angelic

Gears toothless and without cogs a sort of mist

That turns the other gear by drifting through it

As just now through my eye drifts that storm

Battered tree whose broken-petal pocked bark

Asks of me a question my mouth can’t speak

Like a river that dives underground just there

There where the animals thirst the most

A desert fox say or say a toad or let’s speak more simply

About a plum which bursts through its own explosion

Into being and hangs there so ponderously

As if as if not concerned with innocence or

Gravity or other acute angles as they evaporate

Into this poem O no am I speaking again again about

dim lands these dim dim lands of of peace