Lear’s Shadow
A poem for America
Lear’s Shadow
His shape still displaces
sunlight, at least, so we must
mimic every movement,
never fathoming thought,
not thought, the aesthetic
of self, that perfect knot—
working end slithering,
standing part, motionless,
the U-shaped bight, all
invisible. Four limbs,
three theories: father, daughter,
parabola. It’s been proven.
The Sun rotates the Earth.
Or is it the other way round?
I’m confused. Terribly.
Please, night, end this.
TFP IS A PROUD MEMBER OF THE IOWA WRITERS COLLABORATIVE
