Monday Poem

Lolla Rossa

in a field behind our house, Lolla Rossa,
transfigured in morning light

the instant a groundhog
just on haunches drops
and scuttles under the shed

the light that shaped her

particles, waves or both
which transcendentally
show themselves to us here
in this room, and there too
fifty feet down the slope

….. present themselves:

lettuce, whose ruby leaves,
tight, gathered, convoluted at mortal edges
echo the muscle songs of our closest star
as dawn trumpets blow to raise her
….. —Miles Davis from a corner
of this universal room
spinning past the iris of a laser
from the darkness of a CD tray
as coral clouds collect to praise her

Lolla Rossa un-transfigured now
as a nimbus glides from play to pause
and grays her

by Jim Culleny