(in memoriam Vernon Watkins, 1906-1967)
Harness the volume
of the night’s
sweet drum.
Neat sum
of needles, light’s
seductive gloom.
Expose the root
to dab a speck
of suspect glint.
Moss-baited mint
or octopod fleck,
stitched mute.
Tweezer-step
round rose-red thread
taut as a vein.
A fairy chain
surrounds the bed
the snail kept.
Shot with wire
this minus-light,
this silver plug.
One gentle tug
and shell holds tight
in copper briar.
Miniature in smoke
and winter light,
drawn in silence.
Collared violence
seeps, in despite
of collar’s choke.
Knee needn’t bend,
no call for
me to bow.
Go now
and quickly, or
linger and mend.