Lanthanum 11.5

5

The sun slipped west, behind the brooding Rockies –

I found myself dangling feet, like Humpty-Dumpty

from perihelion of that great & empty catenary

swerve.  Get up, my circus-sister cries – turn

90 degrees – face North again.  I did... but

wobbling on that westerly, she took my hand,

said – balance on one foot.  Look overhead.

The sky was slowly shuttering – a royal blue...

& Venus lifted from the sea.  There, she pointed.

I saw the two cups pouring... & the small star

at the pivot, stoutly aflame – quiet Polaris,

galactic gate.  True, magnetic (Étoile du Nord).

Homeward, my integral soul, she murmurs.

Up to the source of this winding sound, this

wounding sign, of many waterfalls.  A mist

lay recumbent on a limpid stream, immured

in creamy limestone banks.  A stand of pines

& cedars circled round a spring, that played

unceasingly above a rocksmooth face.  Shade

of all that’s hidden from the proud, the vain...

I heard Natasha whisper, as the wind

washed through her hair, & mine.  Only

an outline, or a promise... flowing cleanly

through me, lifted to stand... (to understand).

You hear leafwhisper of the tree of life,

said she.  Yon early tree, forsaken for

false, glittering glory.  Yet joy will soar

in its manumission – translated to flight.

5.22.12