Fontegaia keeps on walkin'...


Since earliest Lucy walked upright
there remains one city, one abiding law.
Steadfast, victorious, from misty Ethiopia
she journeyed toward it, keeping it in sight.

12 precious gems adorn its pinnacles;
dodecagonic gates unveil each side;
there Moon wed Sun (while her bride-
groom decanted dew-lit canticles).

Within the midmost confines of that place
a temple dome glows like a honeycomb.
All radiant within - where waves of foam
(in silken folds) enframe an enigmatic face...

Wizard of Oz? Or someone of that ilk...
hiding away in order to be found. Like
Ptah (primordial ground, Indian mound
- the master of her manor-catafalque).

Here Lucy stood. Her marriage-rite
a riddle-trial, where sparkling Circe
meets serpentine Odysseus. Morse-
coded hero's hieroglyph - knight's-

move inquest - a Sheba-test for Solomon.
Their easeful teasing sparring bowls
all through the night, til Robin solos
(pretre naturel) - sums up the dawn.

That vine-fed honey-mead they shared
appeared merely to clear and cheer
their thoughts... O union near! A dear
rain-arch above deceptive falls (sun-flared).

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