11
I walk to work each day up Morris Avenue,
past a honeycomb-salience, Temple Emanu-El.
6-sided figure in white stone, girding the gold
dome’s effervescent smile (its morning view
along the ridge). This was her native home (dark-
eyed, oblique Natasha, my Odessa-dream). Old
gray town, that mingles concrete with a gilded
scheme (musing my wordflushed palindrome-
effusion). & as I fare, pedestrian, downtown
I sense a silver-gray wing (color of the sea)
soar over me... peaceable mosquito-halo, wee
folksinger... archnut Anthousa. Jeanne-crown...
The names for your presence are various, though
you are only you, my dear; afloat beside me
where I go, & overhead – North Star polarity;
a free conscience, by which we learn to know
the flame that makes us high Sophia (Pentecostal,
with a million eyes – a million tongues of flame).
Natasha, Anna, Marina... Nadezhda, who shall claim
the judgement seat... beside me now, processional
(beside myself). 1132 ft/sec., with gravitas –
toward a grave, adorned with flowery photon-
anthems. Shadeful garden, where a Magdalen
(like Cabiria escorted by jongleurs, hilaritas)
waits, watches, waits. For that bridegroom
of every bride & groom, & child, & lamb...
bee-seal of deeper bond (oxide, lanthanum,
iron). Irrevocable seed of every bloom.
6.20.12
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