A Prophet as the Time of Day

Terrible & swift as elephants
is a field of floating weeds where
the pear, a triangle
assumes us with symmetry, where
the excellent bird boats up
its voice a reed daring air
its wings a triangle
its beak belief
it stares primitive at pears
at the reeds
at the weeds
of the floating world
where we ask about each other’s hands
where we ask each other’s hands
what wood is, what kind of love
trees are
green candles like us small kings in grass.
The night is round like a zero like an unmade
like a bomb like a bloom
like the pencil edges of brown owls
like the ears of children
& acorns
like shields.
The field is a shield,
the white bird has red eyes for night.
Be not impatient. The messenger comes
who brings no message. The bird burns
behind a triangle in the grass.