. . . scream of the butterfly . . .

Dumb Anding For My Poem Spun

So I'm trying

to get

this

thing

p
o
e

t
r
ying to repeat that
unfurling, hear
that unfurling
metaphear

old song
ancient listening
sound of the start of everything and
the first anding
and all I have to date are dull litanies,
no quick beam of a storied moon, just
the ludicrous lowery of my own tongue-
locked embodiement d-
yang-
. l-
. . i-
. . . n-

. . . . g-
ua w-here soul is

s
ou
n
d

some

thing

(
w
ha
t
?)

else

not

UN-
like a memory,
a past-his-bedtime-summer-boy,
peering out a flimsy wood-and-screen door, frame of a
musty green bungalow, nighted boy, dumbstruck, firstly
registering the rise and beat and rumbling trill, crickets calling,
lulling, scritching their lives away in impenetrable dark.