This crazy moon lights up like a kaleidoscope,
I see moving constellations in the dotted ceiling--
Orion's belt unbuckles into Cassiopeia's upside-down head,
and I make the Seven Sisters sun sick from their own light
that they burn and combust into something
that looks like my first grade teacher--
and soon the pupil of my eye has reached its limit
and I can't see what's waving in my face.
It never touches but the motion makes me sneeze.
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I like the first grade teacher bit and I like pupil in combination with teacher. There is something about sense of place that is very interesting. It shifts between day and night, old and young, space and classroom.
ReplyDeleteNina, your poems on here are making me think you reside squarely inline with the evolution of the nature poets. that's a good thing. you are a postmodern romantic, in a way...
ReplyDeletei'm not sure about the classroom/pupil stuff... feels like it takes away from the phenomenology of squinting here, and how mythical you are making this act of inherent Weakness, in a way. and how that then ends in such a normal, blasé act of sneezing, after you have been smashing solar systems together.