Roll on, Fonty...

23

 
That dusklight through a southern window
(massive stone Palazzo Pubblico).
Like tawny wine upon an ancient fresco.
Time slows there; oaken beams begin to glow.

 
There easeful Pax (relaxing) yet lifts firm
her salient olive branch.  Leans back against
some sloughed-off armor.  Shoots a glance
(out of that solid scene) toward you - her charm

 
begins to work - such casual circumference
as planets wrinkle star.  Unfathomable
gentleness (as touch of air upon mobile
swings).  Complete silence.

 
In such a pause, a mantic oracle
cracks wide the secret caverns
of the earth - Antea's green
armful slips off, a catenary coracle

 
(homeward, by all the Circes of the Nile
at once).  As when a brittle film
breaks down - Atlantis turns him
back (around a horsetrack).  Infantile

 
sun-tag, dorsal dormitory murmur.
Myrrh left on a moor, lost in Vigo-
miroir.  Melchior-guy.  Your
zaddik travail (toward Sheba-star).

 
The ziggurat of moonlight.  It is near
and far, it is here and there...
it is Andromeda, Medusa's double
M - a paw in the waltz-race (purr, purr).

(note: obscure references, Vigo etc... Several years ago, I was in NYC, at Lincoln Center, watching old Vigo movie, L'Atalante. Suddenly the film stopped, started to burn a hole on the screen.... had to leave. Stepped outside - & there was Susan Sontag.)

24

 
A silver light whispers along a vine
like tippling water.  There I retrace
my steps, across harried pacing
of pavement cop (a raptor's whine).

 
Lightning smacks the merry-go-round.
Wooden ponies fractured in mid-
canter-prance; a pinwheel calved
into hungry horseshoes.  Under

 
flame, a copper stream broke free;
upon its back, Atalante bobbed
(your lost Frisbee, Henry).  Mosquitoes
sobbed like violins in Finland (balsa

 
sibilance, fey forest ambience).
Formal ship's papers flit through cold
frost breeze - midnight aurora-mold's
brief lofty affidavit (MLK of Paradise).

 
Only a ribbon of riven quaternion
(near Babylon).  Hear ye yon horses
nigh?  Where wind hilltop-discourses.
Where a font's pluperfect ratio is born

 
aloft (ringed by grenadine
repose).  Green vines.  A wheel
of labile husbandry.  You feel
it flex beside a treason-

 
scene - odd strains of being,
fortified (by seasoned oak).
Electrified folk?
or some Kush-pinon thing...