on refusing the final merit

what was it he was hiding
that refulgent summer morning
behind lightning crystal eyes?
and what was it you couldn't say
trapped behind this concrete city,
plastered to the pavement like graying gum?
but then again, what more could be done to tell
how all the pretty pundits platitudes fall prey
to the simple profundity of the platypus?
and as the planet dances forever around its axis,
helping the dewy grass smoke to life
again, i pause to consider how
to give account of the unaccountable,
until i once more notice the way
the warm summer rain rolls
to and off the oak's cloak of firegreen leaves,
pooling perfect below.