Fontegaia jingle-jangles along...


I meant for Siena to be a sign, Julie like the
miniature city in the palm of the Emperor's hand
but there is no adequate sign each one a dead end
compared to this manifold Providence the light air

shifts & manifests both here & there & the emblem
for justice done just right no emblem but the thing
itself can stand on that last bright day burning
up the straw in the denouement of a smiling

stratagem that clear intellectual thing that seeps
(a mariner's dew) from the eye of the Old Man
in Concrete or the plastered judge (in the western)
crying out like a prophet the milk of kindness keeps

on spreading on its way thicker than blood

so it will be when the sun cries out
you are the sun your heart reflecting the root
of itself O pigeon, home in the neighborhood

steeped there humble as public servant, or
copperhead dove shy profile etched in money
for a counterweight (In God We Trust) one penny
balanced even, equitable as is the blind goddess

figuring it forth because (as Williams understood)
Providence will not be forced since peace comes
climbing slow (take hold now, grasp thy tendril sum
in pregnant shade of vine & fig
) as it always would

as it always would come round & spin
like a tip on a piano top where the Professor
skips along some high-C melody & so to soar
into the octave waiting there like a Carib djinn

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