Robert Verdon, #417, last sunrise version 2

my room is stifling as a wrestler’s armpit

muddy murmur of earth of earth

graveyard by the sea of electric currents and lost rivers

here lies the city of waxing crystal

full fathom five

time papered over time

muddy memorial, ruin of shadows

rumble in the walls — no quake, not wind, taut sail snaps

blues writhing in every filigreed mast and branch

birds with tears of joy carol here lay one whose name was writ in water

hope or Roman holiday along every grey lane

water (not ice) now legible, cycling to Babylon, bearing stripes and a cross

the workers’ flag is deepest red

shimmer in the meniscus of the world ocean

no more fixed than a star

paratactic

as red fingers in dough

plush room air heavy with scented powder

named by a pantomime of thunderheads

petrified skeleton tree against the last sunrise