Surprise, surprise (to me!)... sometimes it just melts like frost on a Frisco stove (Crisco)... this reminds me of a certain type of yodel that was published in The Hat and Fulcrum (& Dove Street)... - & lots of other things, back in the Qua-train (let the Midnight Special... shine a light on me). Must be because yesterday was my birthday (& JFK's!) - & tomorrow's WW's birthday...

8

 
Harmonics of the octave tend toward unison
on the 8th day   when Raven sheds his feathers
and descends   out of the primitive Fathers'
fresco   out of Voronezh   Calabria   an icon

 
of Diving Eagle (trailing a shadow in grey
watercolor)   mosquito weather   109 degrees
in the shade   of the petrified well   of Sheba's
garden (Shulamith)   (surely a myth)   hey-ey-

 
eye   of sunstroked horsehair   afloat   riding the
air  like a Scythian soothsayer   toward a wedding
without fail   furnace of B-flat cosmic soldering
fearing not   heat o'th' sun   by day   nor the

 
moon by night  since he carries the sceptre   and
wears the crown   seated in the Pushkinian
catbird seat   of   ink-wound path
and meteorite   and the myrrh-box of a Magdalen

 
opens for him   hidden   under a cloud   of royal
Ethiopian milk   where the ark   (like funereal 
bridal train or   PT-hovercraft   hymeneal
barge of the Law   Melchizedek-amygdala

 
- lucid Sophie, from way back when)   shines
in the sunlight   your spiral-jetting J or
Golden Gate   your Fontegaia   your
Itasca-source   victorious amid   green summit pines

 
so the harmonica   steeled in the Iron Age
breathes forth and sounds   a trump-card chord
and the seraphim's   8-winged triplets (all aboard!)
transpose (B-fl to C) this waltz   for disguised page