Fontegaia, unraveling (3,2,1)

25

 
My father had a silver wrench he tossed   to lift
the rope-line of the tire swing up   around the oak-
limb   steel, it must have been   but it's black
& gold in the early photograph (my nifty

 
Brownie snapshot)  Quiet Sunrise in a Green
Backyard   it was a long time ago   the images
detach from   mental frescoes   occasional collages
random, incidental seemingly   coalesce around mean

 
or mediate sort of   circular logic   (donut-
hole universe?)   & now   tiny birds are busy in
another backyard (far from   Hopkins   Mendelssohn)
interrogative goldfinch   definite chickadee   that

 
plaintive you-know-who (odd dish   pining, spinning
(rubato) his cloying clay, his   urn of yearning)
O   my Honey-Milk, my Sun, my   Morning
Ring   on the Telephone   of the Horizon   Wing

 
of (W-ing) Wings   & it's this well   of absolute
longing   will meet   the infinite   unfathomable, &
irrational   diagonal   square root   in Trebizond
where   a little tree (almond?  tamarind?  chestnut?)

 
on the edge of a cliff   whispered   once   long ago
to me   & (with clay rim   of earth   growing so
slowly   OK) held out   the rope-line   of the foot-
bridge (O   be careful, son!)   like a lifesaver   (Mkl

 
row   the boat ashore)   &   the long (feathering)
paddle   in the stream   churned   purling water
there (sword held aloft   on lion's back   by sculpted
angel in   black clay)...   O   my anxious,   kindly father

[note : last lines refer to this great statue, outside entry to Minneapolis Institute of Arts, by Ernst Barlach, titled "The Fighter of the Spirit" (photo by A.M. Kuchling). & p.s. re "lifesaver" in penultimate stanza : I've never forgotten the ironic fact that Hart Crane's father's candy company produced the "Lifesaver".]