casket from Samarkand


Crusaders racing to the Tomb,
an historical pinpoint
in 1099.  Where He went
at 33 (a little room

for some great reckoning).  Daggers
in the eye turn every way 
shark swordfish play
for nightmare realms, & beggars

follow San Francisco up a narrow
fuse (to blessedness).
Stigmata (foolish meekness,
humble mulishness).  A wheelbarrow

carries mild infant Majesty
into his palmy kingdom,
spiky Jerusalem
(sea-rose of sandy history,

Rome’s  crabapple).  The viney mind
demands firm scaffold,
grid to climb, hold
fast – casket from Samarkand,

mercurial chasm, golden
kaleidoscope... meanwhile
one half-moon wafer-smile
of blinding white sail’s sudden

eminence rides on gray wave –
the plummet of an eagle
etches his grave seal,
marking 1132 (full fathom five).


Dartmoor pixie cross

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