(on my rioting lawns the plaster flamingos
endure your wonder)
—Barbara Guest (Dido to Aeneas)
How, youth, such wisdom? Is it so it becomes
or am I entranced into the bubble of it? I like
to put someone in a school just for the resonance.
Music (life) isn’t just harmonicas and dulcimers.
But love will wrap you around a tree
almost every time. And the well are never happy.
Approaching the sphinx with a riddle of your own
is far less tiresome than the delirium of nostalgia.
Maybe that’s the answer. Any attempt to
resolve things is a bit too ominous, though,
don’t you think? Maybe that’s the answer. A
toppled vase dancing in the dusk-storm’s wind.
