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Poetry Magnum Opus

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Shelley do your ghosts in multitude move across


Clouds to stroke lightning? ; Crowd waters pushing


tides. Thoughts surmise about dreams that will only pass


but never arrive at the eyes to bring


flames to the eyes of an obsessive fixed


On a portrait. From a page a skylark


Delivers dreams to borders of vexed


Vision. Does Shelley discern in the dark


His visage on a bedroom wall? . Pages are


Ripped from a book by a dreamer. Bysshe’s


Bird hooks scattered selves-waking to bare


Shelves, bound selves, poet’s eyes close- roses blindfolded flash


Their form briefly without thorns. The facial


Symmetry is torn, eyes turn to wishing wells.
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