There are orioles in the woods

EARTH-GATE

They’re casting another bridge across

the River; saws whine,

a tug toots, the cranes

lift high & gawky, like red-rose

giraffes.  There are orioles in the woods...

My long-drawn notes

shore up a span that floats

on vague bleu Gulf streams – moods

& swings; you have to walk between

the strands of frayed thread

looped onto gravity (dead

reckoning)... O plum-colored has-been,

warped by Magdalenian

& riverine diffraction!

Yet one stone section

lifts the key.  Giuliana

limns it, with her simple pottery –

the old grey painter

in his deserted corner

emanates intransigent asperity

like mud-splashed cast-off prophecy.

Only the rough rind

of some green kiwi-mind...

her catenary rainbow bend (sea-

sown, high-flown).  Yon Earth-Gate

shines at earliest dawn –

solemn mandorla-keystone,

freedom-sign (gioia incarnate).

5.19.16