MORNING CAVE
Late August. Royal touch of autumn.
Comfortable king
of tenderness, bring
me down to your brown river once again.
The cottonwoods are silver-green
but turning gold. A monarch
speeds black-orange – sparks
up the path, to vanishment (unseen
morpho-sprint). My chunk of lumber
floats off too. Fine meteor
pumice, sanded to pearl –
gray weathered pebble, unknown soldier...
The State Fair’s starting up today.
Princess K of the Milky
Way will crownรจd be.
Black milk of bitter history
we sipped... fed roots of almond tree.
Cryptic redemption
on knife’s edge... Raven
remembers (Hazel, breathing free).
The King of Milk is by the riverside.
He washes memories
like Papa’s hand – a breeze
murmuring, Everything’s OK. I sighed.
A child is comforted. The Earth
will be. Like Magdalen
or Beatrice – when the sun
colors a morning cave (in Nazareth).
8.25.16
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