Gold Tooth Song for Sally

I found agates again in my dream.
All indicators strewn in my path.
On earth, in the dust, they look just like
Potatoes, with a burlap peel and eyes.
We ate them in Cong, in the dungeon,
Underground. Rising up afterwards,
In the elevator picture, Jason was still
Mister Chalazion, in night sunglasses,
And Stephanie, cut off in the lower right-
Hand corner, was his little Quasimodo
Half-wife. But most beautiful
Was Sally, smiling, with one tooth
Appearing to be totally gold. It was
A trick of the panorama and yet—
The more I think about it, the more
I think she should really do it.
Agate Head was given a mouthful
Of quartz to chew, to ruminate,
Taste his own salt. On his left temple
Appear to be bubbles, a botryoidal
Formation or else where he lives
And breathes and breaks through
To the all-genre. Thinks, full of rainbows,
That Sally should actually do it.
On that karst landscape I was a goat
Who could not put my gray heel wrong.
Mid-leap, mid-leap, through the old stone
Portal, this way and that, over giants
Turned to boulders by the first gold ray.
THE GREAT CARBUNCLE is a poem written
About that hour on the moor when “hands
And faces of people seem to become
Luminous.” Or, for the great novelist,
That strike of white-gold fang. A light cut,
Most likely, and yet Agate Head is heavy.
He was turned by the first glow ever
On earth. Shine a flashlight through him,
Wet his husk, look for windows, lick him
To find villanelles inside or nothing.
Maybe not bubbles at all, but eyes.
If propped on toothpicks in a glass
Of water, in the sun, would they grow
Roots, grow themselves, or waxen
Stalactites, down from the ceiling and up
From the ground. A whole country
Grows lyrical on that nourishment,
Gold starch over hills and that path
Into town, to the cliffs, to the sea.
In the sunlight, how long can an eye get,
Go. A whole country of loving one particular
Pattern: lace curtains to look through and see us,
As we ran in the rain through Lahinch.