Lanthanum 12.12

Hey Man, you well... oasis of God-with-us.
Palm where royal sun & air, waving spray
& flickering rays, commune... unite.  Hey
Man, you well... listen to monk Maximus
(Black Sea susurrus, rustling sure) when he
binds the twin-bright lenses in one violet vine-
canoe.  One cosmos welded out of two-in-one
as palms enjoin, fingers entwine (with circuity
seraphim, above a mercy throne).  Orbiting
around with happy gyroskips – star-symmetry
of one galactic sepulchre (one verdant, empty
tomb).  Each integral distinctive soul inhabiting
a 4-fold 28-point breathing-space (diamond-
jubilee integrity) – each person flourishing
in freedom, dignity, as through a polishing
event... washed clean – unveiling adamant
pebble, immaculate.  You are microcosmos,
child – a human akme of the universe;
infolding anima & animal, sunburst
of intellect & elemental dust (anthropos
57-sauce).  Hey Man, draw near then
to the hayloft where this infant cry began.
Photon-barn, myrrh-box of the Magdalen;
flinty kamen sponsoring each epithalamian
parade, ring-dance... his Maximus confession.
In the forlorn garden, where a little gate
waits in the shade of cypress, cottonwood
(some almond thought’s sweet silent session

No comments: