An Octopus

For inky, glorious bursts, space pauses, circled round, left with floating orbs of elder bloom. Crawl or fly, doing numerous feats at once, as I lie down, unbalanced, slowing. Dual currents elastic and propelling suddenly bring anchored grips.

Architecture extends its tendrils now, cottony and spined. The wide sea dreams of desolate retains, so when choice becomes light, your inky whole scales produce the flight— these basalt prisons bind.

He wobbles, in motions, a ukulele’s strum; the jazz itself trembles in shade. And thus while the slow unfurlings abide, you appear like a balloon ascendant, yet take flights from memory.

Mounting your bulbous hive— we drift not inward, steady; mimicking memory left unfamous, your fine skin glistens in square of glass.

• Marianne Moore