Here in this tabernacle of glass
and pane, a sonata of hijinks
and scuttlebutt floats down the river's
skin, Eurydice's net, an ocelot of
eyes, bent paint cans, lumber scum,
waterlogged seagulls, bloated
and ostentatious for their survival,
perilous islands where carp
and lovers' reflections from the bridge
drown in tabernacle ecstasy.
Oh! The joy of unredemptive sun,
our post-modern covenant with
carnal undulations and the wind's
ululations, death and desire,
poached and slipping past
to catch and release, to sigh again.
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