A Souvenir From Molokai

Warm as ozone

In the cathode ray

Of my foregone ebullience

I wonder if Nietzsche collected stamps

A little boy with a big moustache

Zeppelins and crowned heads

Pinned like conquered butterflies

In a large unwieldy book

Is there a word, for things falling up

Like helium balloons

When the string escapes

Your charmless hand

A slighting breeze in solemn sideways drift

The way some fish fly

Angles exacerbated

By diffraction

It is the umpteenth day

I put my shoulder against September

Press until it starts to fall

Balk at the caesura, jump aside

Grab for ballast

A souvenir from Molokai

A glassy stone carved with a leonine face

The ground defeated

In puffs of dust

Raised from the sudden spatter

Of unexpected rain

Erasing frankings that would have puzzled

Any furiously passing philatelist