ROWING WITH ONE OAR
So the sieve is sifted, the spun attended to
A token of foreign charm, lost here among
The can of category, disdain of
Destination. You catch if only to amount
As cord-draped prongs befit of all
But tides are guided, a needle through
The Hey, or what’s about faces, our
Armenian friend who hopes to
Cure his ponies and put away the
Rest as hedge ’gainst eschatology
Or moral ’dolotry. Planes down
The view the better to begin to
Build it up. Snow bound or wind
Chapel. Here becomes the premised
Glare—bowling and then bowled
Over.