let her skip


This quiet August day toward
the cusp of autumn.  Green
vine-light in the cavern
where Henry hides his raven-word.

That empty chair in Dante’s sky-
deep rose, for all the hoped-
for prophets, emperors...
& here’s Sophia’s little throne (my

dancing-master’s rosy resting-
spot).  Let her skip
fearless across the ship
of state, her toy basilica, questing;

the Greyhound of the Lord, her
vengeance, comes to this –
gray clouds of Providence
replete with rain; a pregnant mother

radiant with clearing day; the shades
of persecution blown away
by ocarinas (clay-
shell turtledoves, dolphin parades).

Ineffable golden Hephaestus-net...
veil of corn fleece over
a West Branch face.  Her
sister in D.C. (Adams duet) –

icon of Miriam & Magdalen,
Dakota hexagon
implicit in the sun
of Washington... cartwheels, Columbian.


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