as in a game of hide-&-seek


Piero the geometer
graphed the perfect dome
(that marvelous human home
& winking sea of gray matter)

beneath the curvature of San Francesco
in Arezzo – a flock of swans
of radiant intelligence
about their Queen, before the portico

(Temple of Solomon).  He’s hidden
as in a game of hide-&-seek
the wooden matrix (meek
logbox from Tree of Life).  When

Helena comes to Jerusalem
she’ll draw it out again –
sliver from a lion’s
paw, grim rib from Adam’s

galley mast.  Constantine dreams
his tiny golden honey-cross.
Mary’s Pneuma-moss
wells in the quiet kitchen... gleams.

Sweet psyche-legends circulate
around a forgotten rock
in Magdala.  The flock
is scatter-gathered... salty fate

& jittery salts plank-walk the yellow-
black monarchs of love.
Their cedar treasure-trove
is one pine ark (Jonah chi-rho).


No comments: