Neighborhood of Tree Frogs
Solar heat punches into compounds that aggregate
in cosmic flux of the bare-faced barn-oiled moment
of obligations, while we swim in on manta ray wings
to the coral reef in the canyon of salt-sea cliff-falls.
* * *
In the marsh, a mallard ducks, paddling behind brush,
as dollars live on late fees, flies, and any ape-walking
trout-flop barley artistry that explodes into artifacts
behind plates of glass at the museum of cardamom.
* * *
Not only does a sole omphalos transect what interacts
OM MANI PADME HUM, but muscular magnetic geese
landing between loose up-and-down ancestral intervals
mackerel in longing, disporting cardinal energy athwart.
* * *
Irreversible sorrows in the sipped communion of nerve
center sky keep solid matter bone-down swimming in
out of crackling cross-pollination sparking from Earth
where the noon is a renaissance dome painted naked.
* * *
So the new summer fills its yellow cups with sky-bursts
as tree frogs sing the dynamic transfer of pulsatile winter
into sprouting while borrowing from circulation, flowing
with lit meltwater and floating over gravitational heights.
* * *
If a full-grown heat spike has formed a dome over the city
beneath the sun, adaptation to a local ideological history
of humans finding their way through disjunct spontaneity
may encode holds and branch-holes in news scrolls of OM.
James Grabill is
from Portland, Oregon. His poems appear in Caliban Online, Unlikely Stories, Terrain
Online, The Decadent Review, SurVision, etc. The most recent of
his poetry collections are Branches
Shaken by Light, Reverberations of the Genome (Cyberwit,
India, 2020 and 2021), and Eye of the
Spiral (UnCollected P, 2022).