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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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