TINY BULB
A ghost of snow hung in the air
like glittering smoke.
Dusted from a hemlock
by a twirling jay – like nothing there.
Harsh cold rain goes crystalline,
shines in white waves
of domes (over sea-caves,
graves of grass). Adamantine
turtleshell or judgement seat
of green sea-swell
beyond heaven & hell...
only a murmur makes complete
your copper frame, chรจre Liberty.
Emerald cicada husked
in tamaracks, at dusk –
vesture & camouflage for thee,
O soul set free! Out of the spiral
gloom of time you come,
crown of the human kingdom –
like yellow-black spry swallowtail
up from your petrified cocoon,
or incognito monarch
skittering from ark
to ark (Amsterdam-Rangoon
Line – Mendelssohn to Mexico)
– or like a tiny bulb
planted in mirror-hub
of rose islands – blazing so
*
bright the whole sweet Seine will glow
from end to end –
the safety net, my friend!
Jonah’s repast (Apollinaire’s tomorrow).
Thus the planet’s plain warm hearth
was set in diamond
& salt – with two kind
hands melded was gentle Earth
into a homely heart (Heimlich
maneuver from afar).
Gates cracked ajar –
the broken cistern, Cain’s conflict –
the Minotaur in every man –
the frozen ideologies,
bitter mythologies
of gulag-mind, in her began
to melt... the light played on the iron
spring... rust turned
green... mold burned
clear... the Psyche-lamp of Zion
lifted from the harbor. Then
that fireplace couch of ages
in the molten kiln of sages
rose from black soil – crowed the Hen-
Cock! Morning gathering beneath
the lighthouse surfaced
in your radiant face
O Matrix of candescent wreath.
12.13.16
No comments:
Post a Comment