Lanthanum 12.15

15

In Anno Domini 1099, the 15th of July (St.

Henry’s Day, back then) the 1st Crusaders

repossessed the Sepulchre (a tomb, still bare).

Gorged on fanatical massacre, the gluttony

of boots, they knelt there (pondering the absence

of a sign) & celebrated their conquest – the new

Lords of the Holy Land (awhile).  Then, in 1132

(33 years later) deep in Calabrian hinterlands

was born that blooming prophet of the Holy Ghost

(Joachim... Fiore).  Upon whose hoary sheepskin

manuscripts was scrolled a radiant-obscure vision –

an eagle falling from the sky... rainbows, interlaced

in 7 rings, over a host of men & angels, rising

from the mountains of the dead.  To meet

the God of Hosts, returned : & so complete

6 ages of yearning & hope, labor & suffering.

I say, our planet pivots on the contrast here :

kings’ desolate dominion in a code of war

or spiritual power of a slave of slaves.  Poor

Francesco, with his lambs – stigmatized minor

fratello to Jesus... groom to his grey sister-

dove (miadonna Povertà).  Monk Joe beheld

the rough, rude, solitary path (ragged, unshod

up dreary hills) each soul must mount... ladder

to restoration of all things.  Earth & heaven,

futurpresenpast... one round square dance,

with panagyral pipery.  Millennial romance...

the promise of Natasha (in her oaktree den).

      6.15.12