Princess K of the Milky Way

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 crownèd 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