Had to subtract a section of this poem (the old #20 - hopeless). So am shifting them around. Here's the new #21.


Providence rooftops and walls
from the library window (reddish
pink, red-russet, rust-red). Flush
with autumn, always (old colonial

brick-pile). Not much different
from the brown Siena cityscape
of the fresco (mappamundo,
mappamundo). Lorenzetti bent

his figures around corners - loved
overlaps - the hide-and-seek
(parenthetical hypotheticals peek
like Francisco round his mule's beloved

ass). Like the ambiguous griffin
Dante saw buttressed in Nina's eyes
(humandivine) Providence shies
between your dream and mine -

how to explain? It's not on television.
The box within a box, the wave
beneath the wave, the grave

Agave (brave three-master).

(Agave and Agave, courtesy of Wikipedia)

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