"The poet is of no party." Baudelaire
(for Marie-Lydie Cabanis Bonfils)
Sheet glass backed by mercury and tin, Murano mirrors
Calibrate the weather accelerating altostratus until cloud-
Free, pollution-free I pause languid in solarium among
Potted palms. Afternoons glamoured by dash of gold
Dash of bronze. Cut fabric to pattern: mouth 1 and 2
Cheek 1 and 2, face 1 and 2, masked and following sister
To Sidon where she'll save from burning the sacrificial
Bull. I pose on Al Qualaa hotel's terrace kohl-eyed, lilies
Braided in my hair. Stolen from over-growing at the pond
They witness the hydra budding and biologically immune.
Isolation Song XVIII
(for Emmy Noether)
Proof of tree's limit: blossoms undergo prior to fragrance
Senescence and abstracted to the lab without shell and nest
Sparrow embryos appear indistinguishable from geckos.
I cannot be reached regardless of names etched on ceramic
Shards, my afternoons devoted to the intricately woven
Xiuyan jade mask, perfect square beads drowning out the
Dead. If the mathematician's world at each instant dies
And is reborn why can't I rebirth the blue and wind-blue
Sprawl of solar plexus radiating out to posture? Pressure
Applied to forehead releases kings traversed by nudes.
Isolation Song XX
(for Ravanalona III)
Sun-struck by the Mad Prince I pace in white from port
To citadel, citadel to port my body made of machine-
Tumbled amber strung on fishing line. Glistening among
Oil tankers nobody knows I've ingested factory formulated
Bridal dye rendering me defenseless against string quartet
And bouquet toss. Antlers wrapped with roses I quarantine
With Ranavalona III's tender cuttings of Madagascar vanilla
Struck dormant by Strait of Gibraltar and Northern sun.
Greenhouse containers confine Bismarck Palm and Octopus
Tree as you place scissors in my hand, suggesting release.