down by the Rio Espiritu


Cottonwoods mime autumnal Golgotha
down by the Rio Espiritu
Eli, Eli, why have you...?
– branching-out concavex vesica

(tree become history).  Now the mirror
of round Galilee reverts
as when murky Po River’s
backward film flows to Ravenna shore;

magnetic gravity of Mary
reels the molting dove
into the tumult of
new-found Columbia’s eyrie –

cavern-kitchen full of Piero’s light,
her mummer’s earthbound feet
tap blessings to the fleet
in spires of crane-dance patter-flight.

The almond is a little tree
whose acorn eye marks
spoken blooms – arcs
from a sparkling diamond sea

triangulating stainèd glass
from humped Cahokia
to Saarinen-eye.
A speeding Spirit of St. Louis

soars to Notre Dame & Chartres;
steep-waltzing Trinity,
one 1-3-2 will be
your eagle-masque (dive, mère-maître).


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