Maximus at Colchis


Late August light & humid air
through the antique slats
of gazebo, & mosquito
nets.  Ariel’s almost not there,

booky Prospero.  Miranda’s
playing chess, with Gene
& Giacomo – our scene
closes on island claritas

& calm.  Full fathom five, the song
takes hold... the anchor
swims into obscurer
depths.  Remote bronze sea-bells bong.

Those are pearls that were his eyes
treasure-chest of Solomon
impregnable soul of W-man
(– Maggie’s, Martin’s, JFK’s)

Black Elk’s airy diamond
Roger’s pole star
Edward Coke’s (Sir)
liberties & rights, crowned

offshore, in the harbor now.
Maximus at Colchis
wore the golden fleece
of his theoria : articulate prow

or figurehead, the cosmic union
unconfused – not-
of Christos-Nazir (breaching dolphin).


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