Elegy ("Mosaic. Let there be...")

GEORGE STARBUCK

ELEGY

Mosaic. Let there be lashes. The lash obeyed

effortlessly. The mother-warm, ageless,

perfectly-fleshed beauty of chaos peeled

back. And the sea take motion. The rest is jade.

Music. An earth. Great verticals disarrayed

in an armed riot of vinestem. A garden still

graygreen-glistening, poised for the spank of breath.

For the rest, Mozart: a grasshopper serenade.

Musk. In an attic darkness among mislaid

columns and roses, the gray and the yellow leaves

smouldering imperceptibly, a green

penny. Out at the curb, a motorcade.

In airless rooms, mistaken fingerings.

How should a draft happen upon these things?