Of course one man’s understatement is another man’s overhead. That’s one of the great things about poetry. It’s not a science and everyone can state their beliefs as if they were written in concrete. No one has to run the experiment. No one needs to examine the results. Theories fly as fact. The only science is the whims of the future. And everyone is playing to that piper.
So I believe a lyrical interruption in midstream is dramatic in its own right. As dramatic as the Merrimack freezing today, just like that. A single day can make all the difference in anybody’s world.
Quiet, please. Quatrains 14, 15, & 16 of Jules Chauvin, Ferryman in Exile
They gamboled underneath its rainbow spray.
Later while Calvin slumbered, Anne propelled
the craft alone too close to turbulent
surges of influential energies,
shocking her out of her canoe. She dropped
and struck her head upon a rounded boulder
and dreamt of eons washing over her
existence, wearing down her flesh to bone.
Her blood infused the river with an early
autumn despite the springtime all around.
But it’s forever fall in Calvin’s eyes.
And he’s five hundred miles from wakening.
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