The Pedant Attempts to Read a Poem

Oh, I see
time respools

— encomienda

one expects shudder
to agree with scythe
but instead — prisons

Cortés-like — discovers
gold ore floating atop tear
duct digs too hard too

something something in the language
doesn’t leap from the page
languishes low in one’s hometown

well into one’s late 30s one reads
bougainvillea and feels only the moon
disappearing behind the low sun

which long ago blacked
highest mountaintop
cracked deepest ocean

there it is inadequacy unspooling
with respect for the broken pieces one
finds in the sand confirms something

beautiful of
gilded roots.