The "mule" who appears in Verona has been noted by the bona fide historian Ernst Kantorowicz (legend has it the "foal of an ass" Jesus rode into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday somehow ended up there... where of course Romeo & Juliet takes place... Juliet being also the name of my cousin...)
Sail on, Rolando...
She hides now, like a bit of clay
dissolved in the Pacific.
& you hear my heartsick
braying, like that sovereign Sunday
mule – foalish, stubborn, somehow
barnless in Verona
(down the trail from Dante
à Ravenna – è finit). How now,
Ariel? Where to, Joachim?
At the end of the third aevum –
crowned with the cosmic hum
of a trillion honeybees (Love’s hymn)?
There’s some empyreal raisin
soleil, raison d’état
in my four-legged squat –
stray goose-honks trying a bassoon
for the implicate symphony to come.
Maestro di colori, turtle-
dove monarch of universals...
flame-whisper, omnivagrant kingdom-
Sikh of butterflies... Vladimir’s
brown bird, swampy sigh
of cedars). Single yarn (gray hair).
Grey sea. Matière de Bretagne.
Whole whorl in curl
of eyelash (salty pearl) –
Roland waves (to Charlemagne).