Heroic Strain

for Phil Werren

from under I reach
to blood,
blut,

blinded under here
the swirls steeper
than any anticipation,
dark slopes
a glad skier
rounding banked curves
spiralling into grace -

teach
the last call
a solo bugle
misbegotten frequencies
attacking whose ears

who cares

it is nothing
but empty metaphor
mistuned Bach

blut, no capital
judgement, bias begging
for understanding, the
sweeps shorter, the skier
accelerating
back into black decades

repeating the reach
blankly through time again