Oh sad mouse, sprung listing from
the groinings of a monstrous king.
What you have, others have held
before you, and though you deny
your envy of their great age and
insolent nonchalance, your en famille
chatter betrays an insecurity of purse
and purpose, a self-sabotage of mind
which all are scolded for perceiving,
however respectfully their eyebrows raise.
Oh mild mouse, guardian of the sacred
words, spilling red along your whiskers,
gaffing your soft fur with spikes, wilding
the fringe of your crown. The bedlam
finch rolls the rrs of triumph, calls you
both benefactor and liege. Your humility
astounds the shadows, the all-seeing lords
of contrivance. What idyll, they would
wonder, what eclogues will suit you,
wintering here at home.
Oh nervous mouse, upholder of the lazy
ways. The famous, singular ways.
Which promise more than can be
delivered, which leave their residue
of straw in otherwise empty stomachs.
You fret that you shall be assailed,
hence your nerves? But the cadre
of swallows chirp of your compassion,
the long-eared hares mark their ballots
in your favor, ask nothing for themselves.
Oh corruptible mouse, filling the cathedral
with echoes. Your tail circles the chalice,
droplets of wine bead the winking rim,
run through the foliate design like a
martyr’s blood. The foxes eye your little
yellow shoes, the caprice of your pilgrim’s
hood attracts them, their mirthful bloodshot
eyes offering no clue as to their mood,
their inclination, whether they wish, with smile
and intimate sniff, to drown or elevate.
Oh regal mouse, burning off the glory
of those around you, friend and foe, foe
and friend, all equals now in limp-tailed
submission. You raise your pin cushion
paws and all fall silent, only an ambient
acoustic buzz to mar the moment, anchor
the air to its detonating pulse, the phlit-
phlot of dizzy doves, delinquent on the
vertiginous inner eaves. All silence
duly recorded in musical flatline.
Oh sanctified mouse, turn dexter to
your dream and sinister to your duty,
let not the possum’s hollow face distract you,
let not the owl’s much-ribboned oath,
the badger’s grunt of kinship, wedge wide
the solemn riddle with peevish specificity.
The ritual must ride from ebbtide to flood,
each mouth and beak voweling the flow’s gloss
through spell and bubble to conclusion,
uplifting mouse and not-mouse alike.
Oh luminous mouse, eyes black as sleeping
pills, summon to mind the throbbing sun,
forgive its daily bullying of your much beloved
moon. A rose blooms its albino splendor,
there at the apex you might seize by narrowing
your eyes. Fetch into the blooming heart
an image of that same intimidating sun,
shrunk to a pip, a pearl, a drop of burning shine.
Its name shall be the same as yours,
oh glorious mouse.