granite made of air


Hobo sets his sights on Ocean Sky
the cloud-boats drifting
stately, aquamarine
high-masted spinnakers go by

The rusty syntax of the railroad bridge –
necklace for a queen
Galla Placidia, maybe... blown to the edge

of warlord chaos, courtier intrigue;
guarding son & heir
with the pale gold hair
(who will not see the Soo Line zigzag

into the forest, north of here).
The mosaic interior
night-blue with stars –
her mausoleum, like an eggshell ear.

Sea-light filters through pinholes
of gold.  The grey matière
a granite made of air
hides pigeons, ring-dove souls

within its manifold (octahedral
catacomb).  Even
Hobo finds his kin again;
the smile of cousin Jeanne will roll

a tensile thread out of the maze
of time & circumstance –
her light ghost dance
where mountains bloom (sheep graze).


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