Robert Verdon, #311, modernism has only just begun

of emerald and immortality —

pink noise in a shoebox

latterday humming

of the toy-train motor

of memory

glissandi of hope there too

furry nebulae in lieu of sleep

as we kneel and hunt for clues

amid the fluffy fawn blankets

in the highest room of the tower

as the beeswarm wind batters the horn panes

anticipating greener grass

daydream dancing among the marigolds

grass of emerald and immortality

and cities like madrigals

the love in a well-worked treble recorder

can only be returned by playing it

the spring is perfect as the first jonquil

a carven tune flows out to the world