The half-moon curve of the golden dome
of Temple Emanu-El,
so calm on Morris Avenue
in Providence. Only an emblem
of transparent well-being – invisible ties
that loop us in a web
of lovingkindness... (hub
of the universe – clear Paradise).
You know – it knots your heart, whoever
you are. Like the bursting-forth
of a smiling cloud, one 4th
of July, or 19th of September –
like that lunar opalescent gleam
toward autumn equinox,
when they shepherd flocks
of lambkins, & piles of pumpkins beam
like orange suns toward Thanksgiving.
Then you will remember
the anchor in the harbor
under the safety net – the sea-bells’ ding
for one lost sailor. Radius of sound,
a palm leaf of repose;
her memory a rose
pendentive (over Indian mound) –
Ferrara iron, sounding to the depths
of pain & memory.
I am your soul, Henry;
that almond eye Pacific keeps.