Palms and Calendars

Folded, my tents and stars,
to the double of day returning;
confirmed in the light of wars
and the witness of burning.
Christened and wrapped in straw
his tiger of scripture
is ribboned with love of law.
No angel will endanger
his wings of sulphur, but unlock
and deliver the breath up to the rock.

So cage the striped and lidded birds, so chain
entrance and April to a wall of rain.
The year’s palms and calendars
ring in the heels of the bells.

Such eyes and endeavors
will fail, like apples in their wells
of green and bark; hold them to glass,
whose bones are dark as water was.
Nothing but cloths of clouds will ever trap
this salt and silken martyr in our rooms.
With hands as dry as keys, we guide the map
and the river, floating toward towns of tombs.