|
Oh Aldo
Friend Leopold
slender archetype
how few visions we have now
You brought trees closer
until we wept for each
castrated twig in gales. Midsummer
burnings approaching
I killed a wolf to see and
its coppered eyes moaned just so
Friend Leopold
white moon man
solo on leafless prairies
reducing from Latinate single roses
will you nuzzle me
a biting story of
man-grown acreage
to match our forty?
Friend Leopold
rentor of oak savannahs
(those desiccated geriatrics)
something ended
in our held eyes over
curt wedged roots
and the ovular peonies
Tell me a legend
something real
and magicked
Is it of spores?
|
