O Fontegaia... the long goodby (one more to go).


Cousin Juliet threw a spanner in the Works of Time
waving goodby from the Golden Gate (her father's
birthday) long time gone & left me dangling here
between earth & heaven like a sulky Absalom

That was 37 years ago my son, my son
crossing the J-sign slow jaywalk (against
traffic) on a unicycle there she goes again
amusing, she dove in a spiral a stealthy unison

near middle C (B-flt w/suspended chord) curls
(fetal, fatal) toward Cirque, the grainy source
(only a mummery) coos, cooing & the curse
(curving, along a consolation course) unfurls

her flagging route through 50 stars toward Jubilee
& a cardinal-red wolf-whistle signals car alarms, or
carillons over beseeching flowers, where
these final notes coming winging down to me :

& so the news leaks out like milk from the breast
at the rim of a constellation & mumbling lips
try to trace those lucid lineaments, slip
from wet clay curve to a bend in the poetry, a

bow at rest in the sky (like an eyebrow
over the blue, a smile spanning from earth
to epicentered mile-long bridge (near Bloomington)
like half an almond, handed to the other half now

(eye-in-hand, Eurydice... from long ago) only
the drone of cicada-love, the restoration oil poured
out (O longest day) a chrysm over the chasm my
sweet oeuil, my all-monde toot-suite (signet, Julie)


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