I would be bone, says the birch,
bark wrapped in tissue
thin as papered garlic.
I would worship the fossil moon
that haunts cerulean day.
I would be boon friend of the owl,
blanched and stealthy, as Death.
Variations on a theme in Dante:
souls in cosmic callisthenics.
Harmonic motion of galaxies’
gravitational flexing. Elastic
reflex of latticed coordinates.
Dance of thought in language.
The evening symphony.