--an entry from Green Man's Journal

The month ends with spectacular
reflection of sun on hawthorn leaves,
moonlight on 3 a.m. dew. Everything
looks taller in this cosmic radiation,
just as cold war movies predicted.

"The Cyclops," for instance: a normal
man flourishes like a poplar,
skeletal and inarticulate.
Under the stars he expands, blooms
through his clothes. His moans, the guards

mistake for threats. The size of his hands,
mirrored in the placid river, amazes him.
How high, he reflects to the clearing dawn,
could he lift anything he touches.