TIN MIRROR
The color of those clouds, above
that soaring pine (her arms
flung wide, green Miriam
bedecked with cones) – vague echo of
El Greco, Michelangelo –
a bit marmoreal.
Disconsolate King of Coal,
Concrete... former Numero Uno,
about to send tears stumbling down
again... So we sketch the local
monarch. Him we all
know (Only-Two-Well). Then someone
in Michoacán – Rosario Ocampo,
maybe – fashions a fine
tin mirror, sealed with twin
doves on double doors (closed, now)
& mails it to a mountaintop
in Galilee (just north
of El Grotto). The earth
is in travail, he murmurs – ope
mi puerta – up periscope, Jésus!
Stormclouds part for a flint
moment (lightning) – slate,
smile! El rey ha muerto, vivez
le rêve! From grassland salience
(Tower Hill, or Mount
Zion) her milkweed font
purls into sylvan stream (pine-sense).
6.25.15
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