Andiamo, Fontegaia...


Steadfast in the furnace they were dancing
sparks, undaunted motes. Within gray
cloud formations, heavyweight
metals, ultraviolet rays. Pong, ping.

The amorphous force bent the almond
limbs, the chestnut candelabra;
the view took on some abracadabra
tincture, primed by spectral wand-

baton. Its name was long,
irreducible, infinite.
Hurt palpable, sweetness
close by - long was its name,

prevailing its mark.
The span of one brave arm
across your shoulders - come
and go with me
... here we embark,

camerado, Jeanne-ma-soeur.
That beacon flickered through the brain-fog,
lastingly - your kaleidocosmic mystagogue
bent toward one ray, revolving, sure.

And lifted toward dawn. Beyond
tumult of sawing, sighing pines,
toward an ordinary roaming-round -
toward a morning dome in Trebizond,

a walk downtown in Providence.
How explain yon salty commonweal?
It were a sea-bred constancy, the feel
for aslant, a-deck. Longing-experience.

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