alexander at the capes

violet
alexander in the
still-life morning-

the hard
knock of
frozen iron-

the heavy smell,
of iron-

against poorly gloved hands violet
alexander leaning back
against the splayed smack of sunrise

telling
seabury
against the "whole

depth of humanity!"

it is winter,
off the delaware capes
the high capes,

and the snow is still-
life smelling of heavy iron
violet alexander

hears hurricanes at faraway
islands, the scrabbling mouth of
hurricanes.

staining far-off,
than the delaware capes,
heightened with

the violet heavy
iron, alexander

closes his violet eyes under the
sun, rippling among the
philosophy of all inherent
humanity-

as bold as,
closing his
violet eyes

against the heavy iron