He Swallowed

he swallowed the day
like good red wine
and the day in its turn
opened to him over time,

when it slowly became a cave
of minerals coalescing
and not a broad meadow
primarily for sleeping,

his brave acts became a child
in flannel pj’s creeping
along tiled halls
in a grand mansion
of strange flailing people

their bony arms
a windmill circus
gesticulating,

then, like a bullet
over a ribbon of river

dark fleshy rock
grottos dripped wet,

in this get-together of
opaque wailing
and weeping.