Gemstone of Paradise


The poem is for lonely you
amidships (I-&-Thou
nailed coign to prow) –
& for that grubby neighbor too

next door (George or Georgina
with the garden hoe).
A solitary lamp-glow
lingers in the old cantina –

in William Blackstone’s study (man
who went to live with...)
– uphill, on the forest path
to Middy Wewe’s blithe fountain.

George Washington spins in his grave
to see how we behave
without a mind to save
us from ourselves.  Thee must be brave,

& true, & kind, & dedicated
to the perfect good –
that global neighborhood
that shines, wid’ green & delicate

kiwi-glow, beneath the rind
of blind & brutal night.
A callow grail-knight
stumbled on it once, near Samarkand –

spry Wolfram rings the tale – &
like an unknown soldier
leapt – O soulman Prospero! –
from here to Skye (in Neva-land).


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