Locale

[Ross McCague]

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven,
And as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.
A Midsummer Night's Dream, Act 5, Scene 1

Here I was wondering where your childhood went,
Where paradise appeared and was invented,
And why those open skies never beckoned.
Till I realized your heart was broken
Right across the skyline and beyond;
Not once, but several times reopened,
Each tear the length of cornfields’ endless march
Against the pitiless overruling sun.
That infinite line registered in your pain
No matter the species of forest and fox.
The passing Mississippi is there alright
In the flux and ebb of thoughts,
And the wakening dream of time.
My goodness its brash and intemperate floods
Are like my lady at the lunar summit,
Its suspensions the continuous passage of spirit:
Some howling she-wolf journeys
Deep within the folds of moonlit willow glades.

[Ivan Carswell]

A fine piece of classically rooted innuendo - lunar summit and all, brought to the unsuspecting neighbourhood!

[Ross McCague]

It's a take on the neighbourhood of a friend of mine and its possible powers of reflection. It's western Illinois to be specific, and the she wolf is Jolen Casper. Thanks, Ross.