Occasional poem : on (the former) St. Henry's Day

SCARABESQUE

Backyard evening, noticed by

mosquitoes – little winged

lancers (rusty, tinged

with ragged tears).  St. Henry’s

Day, ex domicile (Jardin

des Mousquetiers).  Boom,

boom.  Little room

on high (full of eaglets’ din).

Level with me – let us speak plainly

now.  Fluked in a net

among flags, words – let

this servant-surf unroll.  Mary,

your wide fling-sponge... cathedral

hecatomb of feral

air (on fire).  All

shall be welcome here (the moral

of the tale) – even the big-eared

rabbits of San Francisco.

This is America, you know.

A 51st state-of-mind’s geared

toward Port-au-Prince : tres

riche tresses are hers,

her sails soft whirrs

(hummingbirdings)...  Say,

Juan Fernando... those stars...

ringed round a beam

en face... trireme?

Isis barge?  Rainbarrel, house?

    7.15.13