The air grew clearer as the day came on;
& as I pursued Natasha’s line of sight
hovering there on her cloud-pillows, a bright
embrasure of gray granite, cropping a stone man,
emerged. Held firm on cliffside, like portal-
prow. His feet in wave-laved point of a canoe,
hand primed avast Providence (piano man’s true
blindsight, blessed). He eyes a pencil-scrawl
on the horizon... Who’s like the righteous man?
Natasha said. A fire burns in his bones
for libertà, justizia. Uneasy conscience is
life-sign... forthright unfettered courage can
cast up a hero from quiescent dust, its cautious
round. Williams reckoned pride of common law
on rough-shod knees of Edward Coke. He saw
firsthand the power of right reason over kings
& all their spectral sway – sensed universal
equity... grand springtide of a cosmic Jubilee.
Yet such zeal-fever marrows deeper still. See
how it harries him from home, to find life-swell
(a refugee) in wilderness – an alien (taken in
by wise Melchiz-Canonicus, that kindly chief).
Good will; natural law; Love’s omnipresent gift
of reciprocity... the civil peace : a final token
of redemption. I listened to Natasha’s obscure
speech... Hope’s the anchor of the soul, she said.
& suddenly her cloudswept car whorled... bedded
in oasis-spiral. Feathered palm’s imprimature.