tomorrow another American vote

ANOTHER JONAH

A solitary bald eagle, by the shore

of Shady Oak Lake

surveys us as we take

a warm November walk, where

kids went splashing 50 years ago.

28 young men,

adored by one young woman

from her lonesome Whitman window...

Tomorrow another American vote.

Steeped in the mud of Brown

Decades, Walter was known

for sharp talons, a monitory note.

Writhing oaks & the dark river

seem to conspire toward

iron & blood – another Ford

Theatre, in Dallas, forever & ever.

Apollinaire, after the war,

released one thin smoke-

column (a silver rook-

feather) toward North Star.

He mocked up Brooklyn fancy-flights

for Walter’s funeral – Walt,

who traveled (trusty salt)

to Baltimore, for Poe’s last rites.

Eureka! I have found her – Psyche,

with her agate lamp.

She climbs out of the damp

stream like a Jonah from Milwaukee

                       *

lifting her mossy torch, sweet Liberty.

The copper sunrays circling

her brow are reinforcing

for the mind’s soul freedom – see!

A ring of sparks around her tall room

spoke the wheel of Union

to the local Human –

truth & justice, woven on a loom

of reciprocity (affectionate

acknowledgement of friend

& neighbor, refugee &

stranger).  Dear Walt, I tip my hat!

The Rio slips across her limestone floor.

Time’s womb, an acorn shell,

spirals an eddy-swell –

an infant turtle at creation’s door.

Gold flecks the curve of smiling threads

anchored on air... your grave

ghost dance, your wave

on wave of feathered blues & reds,

whitecaps – flashing bright angles

through a raptor’s eye.

A raven dawdles in the sky.

Night battles echo – blindness mangles

hope with sour hatreds, fear...

& yet grey-eyed Columbia

may draw another Jonah

gasping from the deep – lift clear.

11.7.16