To know the world, not love her is thy point,
She gives but little, nor that little long. –Edward Young
Until then all is gesture
as with sunrise to wakefulness
through faint trails of inference
to sunset likewise
suggestive, omnipresent
but speaking only through light
whose deceptive cadences
splash misdirection
across the visible spectrum
to know her is collective aim
staged as sturdy experiment
or group grope
it begins as speculation
ages to reluctant correction
& finishes as deathbed apology
her attention generally elsewhere
she tolerates only the most
dispassionate of inquiries
whether her April showers sought
what the droughts of March wrought
is northern hemisphere miscue
despite the retractions
despite the fickle & vague reciprocations
we adore her rain-forest mons pubis
as if it were possible
to separate taste from tongue
poetry from Broca’s convolution
we hope for hapless exploitation
seduction poignant as day’s last light
coterminous with a desire
to make her curvature fully visible
in a panorama of glance
curved instant of thigh
28 February 2012
Over Salina KS