The Winter of 1539-1540
I
Here comes a thought:
The Flobberworm among the lettuce.
(My lettuce, to be precise,
Saved by glass from falling ice,
Prospers in the bewitched yard.)
Toothless, mucky and inches long,
Heads for tails and tails for heads,
It moves but does not quite.
II
I found myself in the greenhouse.
The Flobberworm and the glass,
They had a conspiracy which
I strolled right into:
Just a fleeting reflection,
Just an accidental glance,
One upon the glass and one upon the worm,
Blending, bonding, banding,
Assaulting me with epiphanies,
Hours after.
III
This is what I am now?
Or this is how I should be?
(But all I really am is this:
Deceitful sixty-five cloaking
Two colossal centuries.)
Once I know, I’ll never cease knowing,
And I know, I know.
IV
This winter is the Flobberworm.
This winter is perennial.
V
A hundred-and-forty-two years today;
The counting has begun.