The Wirlpool Stilled
Melded limbs adroit
At slow surrender to Lethe’s
Shadowed world of being and non-being
Holding wooden arms, called voices murmuring,
A white noise sensurrounding all.
We wake only to sleep.
The shore beckons. Vibrations
Of pupiled streams continue
As coiled incantations worm
Brutely into our brains, gnat gnarled
And choking now with spidered webbing.
Mired in more than mud,
The daffy’d ducks nibble toes
Pulled heel back; we cannot flee
The pleasured pressure
Of their pecking beaks.
Dragonflies hover the mirror’d surface
Of the flitting purpled pool.
Urgent needs draw us on; the buzzing
Flies apart. Reeled through inlets
Of sludge awash with sedimented crust,
Lipped tongue engurgles sound.
It is not the bell we hear,
But the clanking of the clapper.
Stepping ashore, I stagger.
The Whirlpool Stilled