The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker 
The Magic of the Unmoving

The magic moves in like morning fog
stretching the light to the dim and dusty corners
a rain of energies swells the cat's eye curtain
billowing a thousand of the remotest motes
upon newly christened zephyrs soon to fall amongst
the dandelion eddies or jump to currents too high
to call merely ambitious but rather an unregistered 
element of iridescent bubble bath play,
that milk and butter biscuit flush of rosy-eyed
kittens lapping up saucers of unheralded legacy
unaware of the counting needs of hungry accountancies
or the rarity of seven leaf clovers just as sweet
as the threshold symmetries that govern this
great kaleidoscopy incessantly turning
with synchronously orbiting automs of auger
and auspiciously tessellated memory thick with impasto
and lavender lepidolite circuit boards humming with
inductions of transformations unfurling to lepidopteric bliss
while the conductor's children dally dillily all too aware
of the mechanics of secrets wind whispered into
freshly fuzzy ears cocked in simultaneous triangulations
of moon stars streaking by buoyed by borrowed gravities
to forever circle the solarity of singularities.

How then do weary limbs count down to the horizontal
when they never let go of keeling spring breezes with
softly tilting shoulders chasing fireflies into constellations 
while the sand of nightfalls trickles quietly away
until the desperation of too many dawns robs the coffers to
pay for the overgrown hedge of Pascal's gamble lost
to the easy tell of those who must reduce the cosmic harmonies
to a melodic dirge repeated over and over until the bloom 
of familiarity hangs on the wall like a dried black bouquet
once thrown to the maidenfolk of lore while those drinking
straight from the pub strain to remember the last verse
and unwittingly improvise with naked candor to a
rousing chorus of those still standing in assent
singing a creed so loud even shepherds can hear and
nod off as if it were a solemn sermon well spread
and full of fairy foibled sincerity fumbled
upon the granite slice with stained steel chisel
for the innocent to reconjure with humble reverence
and lay it all to lullaby leaving the undreamed mushrooms
to dance around the swollen redwoods of good will.
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