Lanthanum 11.15

15

So we gazed a while, Natasha & I, through those

marvelous leaves of glass... tinned honey-gold

roses, marked by a razor-thin tread of blood.

Conical... conjunct... triangulation on the nose

of hunter-sense (hayloft of Maximus).  Where

the Abyssinian star-map unfolds, slightly (silently).

Noted Memphis-shadow of Melchizedek (milky

with peace & lovingkindness) recite his prayer :

O praise the Lord, all ye nations; praise him,

all ye people.  For his merciful kindness is great

toward us : and the truth of the Lord endureth

for ever.  Praise ye the Lord (O perfect hymn).

The leaves of the oak tree whispered around us

as night fell, & our vision poured like wine.

The synthesis of Maximus, a conjugation

of the two-in-one, make three : made Kairos.

& someone stands there in the shadows

looking out at the dry garden, listening

to vine-limbs creak in the night air.  Sing

the lines to me.  You made them, didn’t you.

Someone played through me.  Fiddling gypsy

from Bukovina, maybe... stood near the beech-

vine, almond, ashtree.  Ground of our beseeching,

baby.  Baobab.  Somebody like dying bumblebee...

tipsy-traipsy butterfly.  Monarch o’milkweed.

Hobo Bob, come back again.  Risen from agate

grave (a flung fern-spray of tender stone).  What

shall I say, Natasha?  Our limpid comrade.  ‘sfree.

    6.2.12