down a river to the Keys


End of summer on the river path.
Light almost plaintive
through cottonwood leaves,
a frieze of tall pillars.  A froth

of rambling wildflowers, tender lavender
nameless to me – it’s not
rhodora, in this woodlot
astride mud-coppery earth-bender...

So Hobo goes mumbling along.
A road of melancholy
adoration (holy
fool, remembering a door, a song-

agate)... rowing, rowing down
a river to the Keys.
Angling through trees,
light rhymes with breeze (a wind-sown

octave); a fleet bird whistles
through hearkening cedars.
Her labyrinth of tears
might be a simple maze of thistles –

a hobo circus of circumference
around the dense mast
of a coracle.  Its ballast
is adhesive mutuality – love-sense

smiling through some kid’s affection
for a friend... Mendelssohn
in harmony, one
ark out of many waters (milky lesson).


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