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{finding homonculus} jane crown You're pulling back so dexterously, The Irish lace curtains, showing me the almanac, the compass and the guitar One to view and linger with And one to plot the weather With limericks for everyone near you You're simmering in a tight little bottle Trying to fill the vessel while it already overflows The peacock and the sawdust sing to a lesser tune as they conform to one another and yet individuate My wish is, the curtains will linger longer open rather than swagged heavy and hush to the true self you have always been Of who I knew before the strings were plucked and the cups were filled Or the compass pointed listlessly to Georgia. |
