this poem will swim in beauty

this poem will swim in beauty
        for it knows the rock that locked
        your breath - and mine - for

longer than the hand that stayed
        in wretched form    the swamp
        that homed the song that

longed for more    longer than the
         field of vows that strung your
         laugh with mine and shed the

longest tear    in missing, in passing
         in warming the word, in warning
         the word    this poem will swim in

beauty -

And here is the data tangent to this poem.

A Shrewd Shaming of the Shrew

It might not be the job of poems to say what can be said better using other forms of saymanship. But if poems float in an unconnected ether for very long, Wakan Tanka’s consternation notches up, and she speed dials Laozi asking him to summon up a new manuscript now that the gatekeepers have changed: something relevant to what Rita Laura Segato aptly calls the apocalyptic phase of capital. It’s up to Laozi then to cough up a new song which might, at first glance, not look like a song at all.