winter daydreams. VBA. this is from section of Grassblade Light titled "Letters to Elena".


Elena, in the pool of Solominka,
flickering upon that ceiling
where a ludicrous king
drifts in his cockleshell Рh̩las...

the water flows across the crown
of wooden beams and out
the window – a geyser, spouting
Noah’s antediluvian naiads (unknown

to man). There to rejoin the river
(Neva land), and cycle back
past dike and sea-wrack
to the sea again... forever.

Some nomadic spiral of the ether,
compassing diurnal clockworks –
some field’s associated particles or
bedsprings of the universe (her

conch, loveseat or shofar, where
virtual affinities materialize –
supposedly). But we will lionize
this plenum here below – sere

sheaf of arrowheads all-knotted –
strung together – admirable
petroglyph! Your humble
servant, swept, translated

into history’s dustbin (a vacuum
cleaner?) and groaning in the cedar
dentist’s chair, calls out – Look there!
Look there!
– as a canvas of the pneuma

Gurdjieff? Gesundtheit! – suddenly
unveiled itself – a sophic salience
sailed – into stony permanence!
and penetrating the meadowy

hypercubes where time does not run
its keel pealed like the bell of an onion’s
dominion, everywhere – someone’s
St. Michelson-Morley balsamic beam icon –

light wood, afloat – Chris Craft
I saw the arc of its shadow overhead
and Frank will check too – he said
– renamed and thinly disguised – after

the ether returned as ore through the void
and (tweaked with energy) grew wildly
excited in a tableau of zeros – spiralling,
transmitted, pervading, perfuming the giddy

Hendrik B.G. Casimir plates so close together
that Umar Mohideen, Anushree Roy were
able, Madam, at last - I’m adamant – you’re
even – or... Odd Nerdrum we – eventually – are!

Odd Nerdrum – out of nothing – we!
Tableau – or tapestry!
And Steve K.
Lamoureux in Seattle – he

can prove it with his spinning plates!
And he will do that – as the triporia
separates all vibrations from the area,
and the keg or vessel percolates

across the semispheres and we cry
Noev Kovcheg Zaveta... or
Ave Venez Konch-Gato... and
as the lioness and the other beasts fly

faster than the human eye can see –
quicker than a quark – and we
fly with them – you and me (one
ultraviolet canoe makes three)–

and under the dark gilt of the giddy vault
you will not hear the sobbing of the seraphim
only the oratorio Jerusalem, Jerusalem
as the miniature ark lifts off to float

suspended in air
out of deep granaries
lifted to play sing
as children everywhere

once nested in this knot of fire
never to be removed nor remove
as from the pinnacle a dove
comes spiralling down, here

hear share sheer shores
wash whoosh whirrs
she flies...

out of my hands
the shadow of your flight
into the blue becoming night
and beckoning toward...



...Accolade thou dost bestow
Of anonymity time cannot raise:
Vibrant reprieve and pardon thou dost show

Paradise. Orthogonal. Yours, mine.
Orthodox, unorthodox – handmade
of the Lord, 90 degrees in the shade, and
all... a fingerpaint orthographer’s design.

Alpha and Omega, some anomaly or
salience – hidden well, buried in the rocks
of rough Armenia (where upside-down sticks
inside-out as well) until light pours

through carven crevice there... your
ear sees something whirling down:
anonymous, silly, like a clown
in love, a cartoon speech balloon - your

ecce homo, coming home. Pre-branch,
pre-wind pre-word pre-sound pre-budding
preface of an angel’s deer-eyed brooding
dive... before a great pre-smiling avalanche

engulfs the playground once again, again again:
a dome of laughter in the air joins you
as tears dissolve into the ocean. Go,
little bird... fly.

* * *
* * *
* * *
* * *

Paradise is a bird sanctuary now.
The path shines through the cedars.
He said – the Kingdom of God is yours.
The Rabbi – smiling, with the garden hoe.


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