Geoffrey Detrani
The Way We Founded It
A year of glazing the hills with labors’
Silver sperm. Raising instrument
High, its dreary folds and mitered
Rifts with wealth. Were epaulets of spectral
Colored dusts now trim frontiers—the shoulders
Of our blossomed spread.
Beet sugar, spit, a dictionary of mingled differing
bloods—the three braided vehicle of some
exuberant haste—a coronating slurry—sifted
through netting fine to its nuclear weave.
In our infancy of drinking, the cups we made
Were a type of splint for the mouth. Like a metal
Ribbon running under the tongue’s slender middle rib.
Hands pressed forearm deep into sacks of ball
bearings. To gentle oneself into gold.
Glade
The setting: a glade
of cozy, sunned blanket grass
Up-elemented to a taut semblance.
A riot with sky azure gully
Of almost perfect parameter.
Ageless above—wisp ripped of a cirrus froth.
As white cilia streaked, dovetailing
One bleached peninsula into the other.
Join
Lymph white.
Some gap.
Pensive, split.
Like a fault in the shimmering canister blue.
Rose-pink dangled to the periphery of this
Scene. A bludgeon of parentheses.
A ribbon of turn taking hands
wasted to the shoulder, even further.
Our shapes made flush
With slug of camouflage and lullaby.