Primeval Spring


They leave a track across time,
the sea-salt souls – faint
& delicate as painted
tracery of April birch-limb

shoots under a pale blue sky;
massive as meteoric
stone flung from the thick
of heaven (dark as a raven eye).

Unreadable profundum – yet
a trace of what they loved
remains (as in an alcove
names are tapped in cloudy granite

for a terse echo of foregone delight).
Then centripetal gravity
sheds all formality
& mutters from the depth of night

the soul’s original, L-mast
uprightness – earliness;
birchland of quietness,
in boreal Aurora dressed.

Blackstone & Williams, Edward Coke...
such men of merciful Law
& lawful Mercy... & I saw
the matrix of your Liberty – who spoke

with spokes of fire upon her brow.
Psyche, Persephone...
Cana, in Galilee...
primeval Spring, welling forever now.


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