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Philip Good & Bernadette Mayer/ Poem


The trill over swan pond
Something trilled, I don't know what it was
The sky changed only in clouds
eglantine moths massed at the Monroe lights
As not yet said moon grew large and
Shiva danced again with the Guanyin
Wood not only flows but brings life to
Seven big turtles sunning on a stone
Large as insects might smile at you
or for the nearsighted, giant leeches waiting
To the sea again or the correct water for
lobsters and beautiful green octopi to
Isolate in the vision behold for not all humans
that sight of the hawk swarming from an actual road
Let's thank the frogs for the advent of spring, no walls
No glass or ash or belonging toward speed and bringing
the dearer belonging presence of the tundra flowers
Always skylands where crows meet other fellows
for dinner—dare we eat a violet or a clover fellow flower
Shell fish seem welcome in the friendly air and time
There is an animal in there that smiles with a thought
that precedes language so don't say ouch at a thorn
Color of bark talk before flowers appear in view
the reds next to pale greens of spring's whites and violets
the sight of the early skunk cabbage and that
      purple marsh thing
Great plant land zone, hideous preference of
      the new for housing
And one ant climbs the floor in no direction but forward
because she is Marianne Moore and also the moth who is
So many monsters gone into ice elevators, Star-Trekkish
moths will rake your leaves for you if you're too off-planet
Living in a black shoe made by cold fish where one person's
parent died cause of lack of giant spider
         &nbspin the heating system
Eftsooning Moscow mansions with ghoulish joyness, Hawks
are large, man! You should see them they're archaic!
To smile on souls finding fresh blood still warm in the sun
and spirit lovers and conversers looking for the trillings of
reason lines, of course you know that, and then there were
      the blue viburnum and how we felt at home
Not found in the studio collecting dust on sofa and window
      unopened to air of crow flight
or of flight of most stupendous yet hated blue jay hooray
Jumping under the almost happy spring song plants
with thought without language with color, the reprehensible
      nasty blue jay telling us their song
      without remorse
Then the sound close to the feet is countless among these
When the ant is near, fearing our sleeping as you
Smoke between gone trucks brought into night songs
         &nbspsongs of fame and everlasting glory
Just play the lion in yoga and run till the ostrich appears
It's love in an overdue sign along plain view
As the duck smiles with the trill of a sound never heard
and there is the memory of the heron and of all the
      stuff we've ever known together, especially hawks
not even to climb said mountain along daybreaking
Is it daybreak now or will it be tomorrow outdoors?
Those small shoes welcome kind words to breathe in
Behind thin glass wings keep on going to the next
Equinox or something equally glorious to celebrate
reviewing in window of broken ice talk as high as the
      condensed water flow
End now friend our stuff equals something as high as the
      condensed water flow, end actually as great as
any american translate