Surveillance meteor
       

The surveillance meteor hangs over a stone wall
at the back of an hour that never begins
that shares one side of a what's-red-and-black-all-over
field that has the scent of a new playing card
and a droopy tree, melting at the top,

across from the half hour
that will put a branch in my neck
and take another part from my side.
All of this is a block away from spring,
from the flings 'n flashes, the high banks of,
the rows and rows of farmer's nuptials,
foam trees hiding a tennis court,
the flowering door and the Private Entrance
that the meteor surveys.

A surveillance meteor hangs above the tree,
at the back of an hour that never begins,
ragged as a fruit pit. It is two years before my birth,
and I am standing in a fash
ionable overcoat, my roadster colored in after-the-fact
& parked outside the courtyard.
                        Several eclipses will settle in the tree.
A scarlet light is speaking from the top of the tree,
You will mix with the moneyed but
view love differently. The tree stubbed out.
The tree catching fire on top. The silvery name
scratched out. The silvery name added to the log of births.

The surveillance meteor is out dispersing
a gang of comets & a flea sun skateboarding
off the faux stone wall in front of the shoppes in the hamlet,
who are ricocheting above the fold in the monograph on summer,
around the gash in the valu
able etching of a hayfield
torn from the PVBLIC LIBRARY,
down the country lane of ash trees and a business sunset
while the stone wall continues into the next four days

until a door opens in the mural,
the lower half a painted rock wall & butterflies & cornflowers
& morning glories, onto the manager's hidden room
(the manager is out dispersing the Comets & Sun),
the hidden room that opens in the middle of the sea.

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Copyright © 2014 Alexandria Peary All rights reserved
from Control Bird Alt Delete
University of Iowa Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission