for emily dickinson
sung silently with tuneless eyes yr somber lyrics,
exultation is the going
of an inland soul to sea,—
past the houses, past the headlands,
into deep eternity!
revised hymn quatrains, solidly packed & compressed with
austere metonymy, agnostic inward looking,
& fascination with death, tragic love & loss, are
not even parodic with the christian song of praise.
coolly feminine & intimate, yr prosody
whose wide interstices left by the god u excised –
in spite of yr sojourn at mt holyoke & long-term
affair with a married preacher – were so deftly filled
with oh so delicate clitoral imagery
& such selected homoerotic devices
that continue thus over linebreak after linebreak
to further feminize/immortalize yr discourse.