SNOW-CONFESSIONAL
These scarlet dogwood berries
sprinkling the patio
like drops of blood, O
thou October pale marine. Seas
mottle thy face more than they should –
scars, age-spots, drawn
across youth long gone. Her
billows drowned there, Robin Hood.
So the copper-pronged harpoon
dove deep, to sea-floor known
before Bronze Age. Ravens
intone their learnèd funeral tune
& crows can recognize your face,
Cautantowwit. The moon
be pierced to russet soon;
your soul, also, cannot erase
persistent chronic blood-pain’s trace
that stains each chronicle
of hero-miracle,
mutters Antigone (in Mary’s place).
A coral circlet rings her hair –
aquamarine, full fathom
five; another kingdom
circumscribes (asper coin-lair).
You know it, Henry Buried-Man;
your snow-confessional
remorse codes – Rez is all.
Be reconciled, sez Rabbi Dan.
10.7.15
dogwood in October sun
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