Lanthanum 12.16

16

I woke from sleep again, to find myself

nestled in oak leaves on the Terrace, high

among tree limbs, with Natasha.  She grew shy

now.  The monastery of my lips is sealed, my

elf, she said – but tell me what you see.  Once

more I looked out through the greenery – &

seemed to see a huge assembly, ambling round

a circle... some sweet-solemn wedding-dance

promenade (far off, among the western clouds).

& at the center of the wheel, a blonde woman

I’d seen somewhere before... maybe Italian... ?

My lips remember now – small icon (housed

in RISD Muse.) by Lippo Memmi – Magdalen,

with small stone casket in her hands (delicate

myrrh-box, ornate, with tiny mirrors).  What

lay on its lid?  She was far off there... then

Natasha lent me her gemlens.  It worked

like a microscope : I saw the slim casket

was lidded with simple emerald slab, set

in magenta border, & graved with gilded

tracery of river-scenes : 4 rivers, poured

from jars by angels at each corner.  & there

were palm trees, willows, cedars by the water...

& Abraham, & Isaac, with a ram... a wingèd

angel in between, to save the boy...  It is

a miniature Paradise I see, I said to her –

but what’s inside?  Is M’s jewelbox for myrrh

alone?  Natasha only smiled at me.  Gee whiz,

I thought – this is a mystery.  I turned back

to the vision in the clouds... gazed deeply now

into her azure eyes, beneath twin-arching brow.

& suddenly a white-gold star-arrow turned black

                                  *

my sight.  This is Sirius, a serious star, a whisper

spoke.  Nearest to Venus, & the sun.  Keep

your eyes closed, for now – for from deep sleep

of Man, must rise the Sun of Man.  Rondure

of molten, labyrinthine, fibrillated gold slowly swelled

there, behind my lids... & without opening my eyes

I seemed to see that circling cloud-crowd cease

moving, turn to center of that wheel : dead

center.  Now the mirror-casket silently opened...

a shrouded figure (like a cloud) rose from inside.

The shroud was dusty, the figure dark.  Wide

shoulders slowly unstooped... bent brow lifted.

The figure spoke.  A quiet flute, melodious.

I am the melek of the milky covenant.  From dawn

of time, I have prepared your heart – soft stone,

harder than diamond... perfect, as Elkstone is.

Each man, each woman, every soul shall wear

my ruby diadem – to find their lives, & dwell

in peace within their earth.  All shall be well,

all manner of thing – now Earth begins to bear

its flowering.  I suddenly found myself racing

toward him, toward some Finnish finish line –

for Melek-MLK stood now beneath twin tines

of that bright tuning fork, centering everything...

I saw a rose wheel over St. Louis, the riverbanks;

I saw a triple rainbow underneath, over the Arch;

I saw the crowd around Mary M. begin to march

again – gaily, skipping & dancing, giving thanks.

Then I opened my eyes at last – saw the old church

across the street.  Redeemer Church (Episcopalian).

An old rose window beamed in early light – serene

beneath wingèd gray granite brows... (sigh).  Watch.

    6.21.12