Beneath her, I hold and carry
a warm cardboard thing in my arms,
a kind of perfection -
for on each such container,
in each of our cities,
it is printed: "The Best."
This best must be held
with both hands, level and formally,
(as when to a splendid queen,
the inlaid coffin is presented),
else the flat-earth, edible pie
inside will slide asunder.
How the commonplace pulls
the body into stately postures!
How the mind like green leaves follows.
How we process by stoops and hedges
with our fragrant burden.
In
the blue flickering rooms,
citizens are laughing out loud,
I hear them laughing,
at the tales of a new and terrible Homer
whose 'toons have taken
the land of the buffalo by storm.
Like Audubon killed birds,
I break off a sprig to love it:
pliable forms and true leaves
are emerging from woody stems,
for all the world like infant bats
unfolding wet wings.
