Wild Hexagons

The vital spark grasps the wraith,

a terrifying exotic effect of good faith

burning hot blue trinity, cantor apeing origin 

without word, spinning out wild hexagons.

Termagant eight sails tucked inside the infinite

axial vow on variable matrix, bookend wrens

of November, lift their golden chins.

In harmony, sixes and sevens come and go…

Integrating opposing forces wandering threefold.

The virago vixen catches the flicker

and turns her perfect face on the earth below.