By A Spurting Geyser Poem by Felix Bongjoh

(i)

I vow and bow
to a wreathed splayed man

standing O crowned
sun of battered man
molded into indented stone
in a singing storm.

Let my cloak be drenched
in your melting snow.

Let it be dipped
in the silver thread
of a stream
stitching shivering stones
to a stiff waist.

(ii)

Beneath your punctured feet
I seize the breeze
that covers me
with your taupe cloak of earth.

Dust, weave time into me.
Time, spin gusts of dust
into the bowl of my being.

Time, fly a muttering
feather from a wandering bird

on a broken-shouldered
mountain dressed
in the racing flowers of a bower.

(iii)

Let thick thorns of fog
be thawed
into a lake, wherein I fall

beneath your knees
seeking a cubicle
in the furrows of your watery face.

Through your glow
I flow with wings

and float above a fire
from a deep hearth
stroking clay and mist

O feathery times, spin a dove
to brush my brows
with dusk's red crystals.

Let dawn brew
a gold cloud to cleanse me
with a bouncing day's bush.

(iv)

Above my crater,
bathe me in waters

from the red ruby river
charring red coals
in flowery embers.

Towel me off
with dissolving stains
from a spurting geyser.