cycles (and cycles)

gone is the pall

of winter's deafening silence

gone the pale frozen moons

from this night blackened canvas

and now -

spring's deep veined geometric catharsis

these showers and flowers

and hours (are ours)

these cycles and cycles and

cycles (and cycles)

with fissures and tremors

and thunder and magnets

in wavelengths in patterns

in currents in flashes

winter's muted penumbra

is buried with elvis

in warm summer hammocks

on black turquoise beaches

your euclidean eyelids

and my coltrane sonata

are swimming in circles

in buckets with x-rays

-George McKim


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