After the Crash

Past hard-fought delay, and the assuring spring
Of snares well-regarded (few to count, but
A cordial portion) I catch my way

Recurred onto routine shallows, among
Lowlanders quick of surmise, if taxed
With quiescent invention

And mark the last nicks and notches
Poxed upon the searing sybilline blades;
New news is no news, wonder nothing,
Broadcast intransitive, signs and blooms.

I revel the abacus of body thrift
Finger beads curve sparkle honey
Doubtful stars and other turncoat pilgrims
Flash beholden, unlured but allured.