18
The old tramp, at the edge of the Terrace, slowly,
stiffly, rose to his feet – stood like a craggy pine.
Slight limp in the rhythm, the limpid modulation
of her voice (like far-off bird, calling tenderly
through timber) gripped his heart. Her hand
suddenly grasped his (spearing out from a mass
of unreadable cloud). This car – call it Natasha’s
Throne, she said to him. Skips overland.
Then – in no time at all – he discovers himself
transported to the apex of the Gateway Arch! &
she who’d haunted poky Hobo hovers – perched
in the air beside him. What lovely sylph, or elf
be thou? he heard himself mumble, barely
audible. The cloud-flock dispersed... & he saw
two calm eyes (almond-amber) couch in a brow
(it seemed) of moss, willow, & cypress (shady
grove). Gowned in a sage green waterfall
with belt of violet, she stood before him
blithely smiling & serene. I’m Lanthanum-
Queen, you might say – secret, hid from all –
especially from you. For though you’ve known me
from the start – & all your lost-dog yodeling
was spurred by me, & every cherish-interlacing
image in your heart – you missed my quiddity;
folded in profound recess, a sabbath-day
of agape. The lofty cedar’s but a pine-
needle, fleet limb of water & sunlight;
I’m here to lead you back that way.
5.8.12
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