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clown
toddler
in
the sheepskin grass
rolls
the park
under
his feet
soft
hands
palms
up
balance
two
wet
rings
(he
is a clown
seriously)
atop
his wands
two
saucers
like
lakes
whirl
and slip
one
pellucid
one
soapily white
down
each stem
from
sacred impossible tarn
from
real pool of the damned
trickle
cold hot
liquid
fires
to
a child
with
the world at his feet
Alan
Marshfield
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of page
note |
