Look at the canoe

BRIGHT GAL

        “Look instead at the canoe, I beg you, and observe 

        its honesty, dignity, and moral courage...”

                   – The Garden of the Finzi-Continis

The last full drop of summer sun

plays out across a falling

garden.  Dogwood, shedding

scarlet berries, rattles in

cool air.  Leaving Lil’ Rhody soon

(for North Star State).  Exile

is a state of, meanwhile.

Yom Kippur whispers repent, atone;

Francis in Washington lifts up

his rod of Aaron (bloom

of magnanimity &

doom).  A star from David’s cap

came forth... a cedar replica

from Lebanon – like Wanda’s

wand (the State Fair Queen,

robed in golden Land o’Lakes

boxim (within more boxim)) -

aimed, centripetal,

toward glimmer-portal

of the Milky Way.  The little foxes

all stacked up, O my beloved.

Monarch is an imago

out of the cocoon

of long ago.   A turtledove,

the El of El – Francesco

out of San Francisco – ark

within an arc of light, or

Galilean galaxy (an Okie oak).

9.23.15