6.30.2012

Lanthanum 12.19


19
Hobo the poet (remember Hobo?) fell asleep
in patch of bronzegold roadside   day-lilies (on
his birthday)   at the end of May   & someone
touched the key of C   (the 29th?)   lost sheep
in a corral of Bach, perhaps   & had a dream :
2 big   rust-rose   28-spoked   ferrous wheels
the spokes   were made of cottonwood (heals
homesickness) & steel   welded without seam
& the wheels turned slowly, gently   into one
bi-petal bicycle   carting   an almond-shaped
canoe   which bore   an upright oak   (draped
with moss garlands)   the oak was Black   an
Elk stood guard beneath it   lilacs   shrouded
him from sight   in Hobo’s dream   he grew
so small   so dark   only a single rueful brow
with 2 black wings   & sea-blue eyes sharpened
could see him there   She alone knew
he stood guard so   within his rose & lilac
garden   his cave   a vernal quincunx   back
behind limestone rim   before time began   who
stood forever   with the oak   a kind of keel
true kelson   pointed   like compass-needle
toward   √Čtoile du Nord   & commonweal
(one Cosmopolis)   Hobo saw it too   still
shining   over Sirius, Evening Star   small
distant moon   little light   sweet innocent
sun-twig   asway on branch (old, bent) of
high ancient   night oak   sheltering   tall
6.29.12

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