IRIS UNDULATES

Iris undulates the lawn.

Burnt shell of aureole.

Sparrow skeleton hung from a skein.

I thought it was part of my story, the thousand I’s.

Robin song from the chimney, couldn’t see it.

Coxcomb redbreast, dimmer vaunting.

I sure was happy to find you

skinny and reddish, like a red pine

unconscious of its redness, it is so tender.

There are stars and blurs where the words were.

They keep nesting.

I sure was unclouded by your clouds

though they kept westing, blackening

the valley with their splays and shrouds.

Not sure the green z of my eyes,

gold a, swept the gray-blue of your ocular

lake-scrawl spill around the pupil.

Lumen rifts around aurora’s room,

sifting. This isn’t the sad song

songing. This be a swift space deleting

where we drift.