VERY SOBERLY
but is there still mystery under my skin
...???
SESTININCE
the gold season, underwater light
slow moving underneath this spell
behind my head, some soft gun-
and how easily the pages fill
at night phantom flowers trumpet
asking how the moon slanted when i was born
and if the sun when i was born
was on the other side crying light
here: there wasn’t a trumpet
only a soft mama’s spell
the apartment’s constant hum and fill
and the big sister playing with a clear pink plastic water gun
while out there a big gun
was slung and its sound, air-born
from what they call the lower bottoms - down by the land-fill,
with its industrial yellow flood light,
out up and over a quiet spell
between the old ports’ horns and trumpet
midwifery instruments, one a tiny trumpet
for pulling liquid from my left lgun
“how do you intend to spell…?”
now that this critter is finally born
it seems so light
though i know she’ll fill and fill
and fill
her mewing mouth trumpet
till morning light
so soon that orb begun
to open its eye, timely and stubborn,
and look for a long slow spell
i repeatedly try to spell
out facts: there are anemic holes to fill
between that thing new born
and me here holding this trumpet
a backwards gun
too tinny and vessel-light
spell-trumpet
fill the gun
born slight
