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

becomes the very light
that shaped her—

becomes  the particles or waves
(as the truth may be
of both) which transcendentally
show themselves
to us here
in this room
and out there
fifty feet down the slope

present themselves as ruby lettuce whose leaves,
tightly packed and  convoluted at their mortal edges,
echo the muscle songs of our personal star
who blows trumpet too to praise her

—Miles Davis from the corner
of this universal room
spinning past the iris of a laser
in the dark reaches of a
CD tray

Lolla Rossa now un-transfigured
as a cloud cuts between
pause and play and
grays her

by Jim Culleny, 10/20/12


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