Iris was a messenger


This winter light is innocent,
salted with snow.  Downstream
from Franklin Bridge, steam
lifts by gawky crane, afloat

like nautical giraffe (all finished
now).  Henry Hobo
seeps his moonshine so
far down... devoutly to be wished,

that well-being.  Dante was agile
in the Tuscan sun, seeking
also – her flame leaking
through trumpet vine (light, fragile

grace).  Men search for causes
& neglect their ends.
Ophelia’s betrayal bends
into a sea of stinging roses

where Earth replies with Mendelssohn
& Paradise was felt
before her deck was dealt
(52 weeks of sun – Apollinairean

royal flush).  She seeks you too,
his glinting Beatrice.
Iris on her way
from infinite mercy (blue

rondure, flecked with gold, aswirl
from blazing central star)
brings home to where you are –
in thicket night, a glowing coal.


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