The Hummin’a’Bird’s Spring-Time Carol

Alice`ntious Aurora awakens.

Once titled both Eostre & Ostara, yet I was a single leaf in a tome.

One page, with two sides.

One is even numbered, and

One is odd.

Dexterously left-handed,

Playing Janice to your Janus.

We’re two, radical, two-faced diabolicals.

I was Ianna. Venus to Mesopotamia.

Aye, I


for you

from below*

Klingsor’s infernal Spring-brake decanted all over my Summer-time.

Lint in his navel fleets like the novelty of any old, new thing’s novelty.

Lent is his steed, and yet still he row, row, rows his vessel downstream.

Passover the brooks, rooks, and funny-looks.

Recall the alerity of the pages.

Nightly leaves through the knights.

Merrily. A stellar dream confusing a model of a star for the actual star.

Because the star was too perfectly a model-star.

Ingenious, artless ingenues.

Sweet sugarfoot, you were so much older way back then.

I kept your place by the fire warm.

Looking-Glass House a’lit by a bonfire built from fiddle-sticks.

Are you young enough yet that you can now remember building it?

The light housed between Castle & Tower.

Where, in our rabbit-hole, we both

Wear just to undress

And, to undress wares from.

A white March-Ingpen Hare is driven by time

As like pure snow,

Waist-coated ampersand watch-pocketed.

I un-wound cork-screw hill until I forgot my name.

So then, re-wound the same hill to get it back under-heel.

I created arabesques, atop tip-toes, atop that hill.

A top spinning atop a hill-top.

Dancing like a dervish whirling.

I eagerly awaited. The hardest part. I was much younger then.

To meet you with unapologetic exuberance.

I learned to move so quickly, that folk could neither tell nor espy if I had left and went-gone and then already nigh come-again.

Minnesænger you are to have woken me so abruptly, so long ago,

Only to immediately-then fall asleep.

And, sleep-walk so convincingly.

But, Dearheart, by mine form do not be fooled, i have a curious notion I may be inside-older than you.

Well…at least for right-exactly-now.

It is Revival.

Massive Mass.

I know your proper names; and by these appellations,

I know you have never been called.

Your proper names do not even include that & those of whom witch-named you.

They call you: Hither

They named you: Come

Entitled: ewe with a handle.

Your faux-mantles.

Only monkeys bear monikers.

They are primates; not prime mates.

Howl-ever, none of these are the word/s for what you are.

Masculine and demure, you look cold, fine ephebe.

I am always warm; bring your dark effulgence here to me.

We are axiomatic and inexorable.

Structuralism in motion,

we procreate the quintessence of

Magical realism

We posit through repose.

The sealing-wax apposed up-on

The ceiling above, from which we somehow look down and find our feet to be above.

Our im/proper pro/nouns, now in apposition, finally enable us to unface the opposition.

Unopposed we are, finally, apposit.

So, let me bring my mouth to yours.

*1) i was Ianna. The Venus of Mesopotamia.

II) A one = 1 = I = i

= One Anna

= Iann a

=1 Ann, a

one n’ a

i and a

Result æ.

A and I

Culminate Æ.

Author: writtencasey

I am fascinated by the scientific endeavor and I read about or engage with those processes as much as possible. I am a compulsive reader and writer. With a background in anthropology and as an arm-chair/backyard scientist, I hope to improve my writing skills and learn about any areas of weakness or misunderstanding in my analytic skills. I am excited to share. Thank you for spending time here. Please reach out if you are so inclined. I'd be excited to hear from you.

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