Andiamo, Fontegaia...

16

 
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.