Mississippi sundown

INCA BIRD

Mississippi sundown.  Meek

flock of cottonwoods

leans toward sand-

bank... listen to the river speak.

Noah’s raven criss-crossed the ocean

weaving black on blue, 

salt over salt (sez you).

My splotchy gouache representation

wings away north, south... follows

Big Muddy to her delta

denouement, selah.

Breathes on clay (rows, rose).

This Inca bird, like a Cuzco condor

(or Marshall St. bridge

bald eagle)... no prison-

pigeon, but flight to the rondure –

a well of black water, with stars

in a lattice (for stories).

The Ghost, says Maximus,

prehends the insolence of wars –

lift up your hearts, she cries,

lift up.  Paradise

is a habit of eyes &

hands, not formulae;

lips rim a coracle (of cedar

curve & silver plow)

so that you too may know,

my child – the Earth (from a star).

11.21.15