A missive from Petropolis


In the clear winter light, the bright life
swings through memory
like steady Mississippi
viewed from a bridge.  My wife,

whispers a tottery unknown Schweik,
hugging his beloved
flak-jacket (bullet-
holes & all) – Maya Jhenna, that Mike

mumbles to Neva (ghost of a muzhik-
moosh)... my shining
inkling, engravening wing-
back turtledove... (nuncle be sick).

Awhile soul clap in jail, this bird
will penetrate the day –
a wormhole P-Jay,
serpentine (heart’s own sail-shroud).

Like Raven, still criss-crowing
over Noah’s bobble-head –
whose flinty beak’s dead
reckoning will note the gorgeous

hillside, blooming afar, over the sea –
so that prophetic castaway
(Hobo-Jonah) will play
black Orpheus to Coulombe-Bee;

a missive from Petropolis
(long-axled hasp)
plumbs Negrepontis
limns Clio’s last golden gasp.


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