hove-to before Frisco


Strong wind in Minneapolis
today, & slate-gray
clouds (stone solidarity
on high).  Big Wind, my father’s

nickname (Indian Guides).  I picked
West Wind.  Some air
in the ceremony there –
pre-Scouts, & pre-Socratic

too.  How a breeze shoulders a mountain
into laurel blossoms;
how one lilac sums
a people in a spell (for funeral train).

The Word-as-Such... the Word is such
for we who have passed over
Lethe.  It is more
than scent of orange – it is a torch

lit by shaping lips, a summons.
One hectoring nation
circles on its chain
thirsting for liberation... the romance

of Spring on earth.  It is only a turtledove
salience, a gray-feathered
stone from Petersburg;
just a load-bearing mule, hove-

to before Frisco.  & you are called to join
the company of saints –
where Livingstone faints
in swamps of cedar (violet, African).


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