Poetry and Poetics
I believe in the hot
& dry, that's why Florida.
I try circle for possession
and Far East, though that's impossible for globes,
and something from the sky.
Meteors, nickel-filled, crystals as fragments
of a solid throne
because of heaven being ice, and shattering
despite some wishes,
I wear topaz for heat, strewn in my iris like straw,
lark's eye wrapped in a wolf skin.
Thursdays I wear no rubies and put my watch aside,
add up my lucky days
avoid the rain and the ice saints, the uneven.
I am interested how nothing
is the fault of the afflicted, the malady is just
their bad shadow dragging them down.
How moth, a messenger jimmied the house and died
by the light without telling us anything.
© by Allan Peterson
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