All this May day we have lollygagged
            from Chagall's clouds to Modigliani frimousses
            the Minneapolis skyline dragging away
            behind, handholding lovers in cupolas
            hanging after the rain

            All this gray way we have squired possession
            catapulted through our akimbo expressions
            a spire of glance squinted through "ceci n'est pas
            une pipe," Cézanne's flowers convex
            in impassive slate

            Each square we have parted, etching kisses
            as thorns through startled wood.
            Eyes pricked: spurned kites stabbing homeward,
            returning signs of heroic muses
            grown flippant in frames of song and use.

            Afternoon: Each shard of fire the city shrouds
            is a ringed hand over pupils, restful.
            Extinguished, I pull my dagger out of you,
            watch your colors flow instead:
            strained from one state without water,

            Mercury penning suicide on arco iris
            memory; metonymy and harmony
            growing fat with photographic certainty

            that we will waken through plate glass
            haloed, marked for sacrifice
            on fateful satyred fields.

Copyright © Juli Kroll, 2006. All Rights Reserved.