down here on the ground

CHILLY BLOWS

A red-tailed hawk shows white beneath,

sloping high in the cobalt

blue – pivoting afloat

on air – freewheeling in the teeth

of chilly blows (from Canada).

Down here on the ground

clay thins to the grind,

shatters like ice – power’s arcana

plates a hard face on the mirror,

the barrel.  His scapegoat

brands our feet by rote,

his toothy mustache splinters the car.

In the cosmogram from Amen Corner

another bird hums

through dusty spokes – drums

emerald beryl-wings across your

grave circumference, Columbia.

Your adamant cheer, Mother –

whose fleet flute-font rings here,

rings there, rings over yonder... ah,

brave wings!  Braiding Ocean River

with an Esperanto-Roma

glossolalia

hums into the matrix – shiver

these bony timbers onto sparkling

shores!  Nested in Galilee,

a grafted refugee

on new-found land... thrush, darkling.

11.9.16