Fontegaia meanders along.


Billions of years from now, melted down
in the furnace of Milkomeda (black hole
of calculations)... death without parole.
Everything changed. Planets unknown.

Here Maddy became her meditation.
In a place of desolate vines.
By a barren cave. Mind's
(dislocated) irrational

sixth sense took over. 33
years ('tween cryptic epiphany,
spooky return). Old prophecies,
lightwit beehive wheels... wheee...

PT-109 nine times around Mt. Helicon!
A trim, grayish cicada boat, immersed
in mist... O breadbasket of Melchizedek!
Weird Circe's chalice! Almond-eyelid-sun!

Only 32, mon eleve. Not much time
to figure out universe as continuum.
Arms' bending willow branches form
primordial, frigid arch... a sturdy rim

of rhyme, a hula-hoop, a hand-sprung
loop-de-loop. Poco al poco (haunt us).
For the hand that wheels the wheels
within wheels whizzes unseen, unsung...

lifting the weight of serpentine copper
across green moss of Moses-magma,
charted long ago through fiery tetra-
grammatone to faery stream-stopper.

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