cradle of rain


Grey cradle of April rain.
Your riverine Nazir
or holy fool was here,
rounding his moat with a vision

of metaphysical hope.  Song
like Mendelssohn mandala.
Smallest coign (voilà!)
of the realm – just one among

many, Penny, to kingdom come.
Copper wrung with fire,
like Cassini in pyre
of saturnine canons – Love’s hum

somehow redeeming them, each little
statuette of soul 
freedom (the cosmic equal
sign).  A dab of mud & spittle

might reveal the night garden –
snowflake octavo
revolving over Buffalo
(holm oak to acorn, evergreen);

the whole note of the Nazarene
squared & shaved round
like some lost-&-found
locked-room problem – Tom the Twin

tying twine into a knot-cradle
of human & divine,
of Jew & Syrian
(or Greco-Roman republican).  Ladle


of Milky Way – the Twin Bear Cube
softly circling,
a tiny light unmoving
(port for Magi-King & rube).

The light strengthens as you climb.
Climb toward the broken
seal, the torn silken
veil, the split seed of our primal crime...

ecclesia & synagogue divided
in the keystone arch
as airy lark from larch
(twin siblings from earth-shaded

sky).  The seed is the salty word.
Out of the undivided
Ocean-Jonah glided
magnanimous eagle-wings – soared

into Benedictine Aesop-cells
from Africa to Memphis,
Iowa to Mississip –
aerie of equality, wells

of everlasting life.  That vermhurl
knot, spliced by an outcast –
Pushkin-slips so fast
the prophet scatters into whorl

of matrix-hurricane.  Rude eye
on Zion, Washington...
Heartbroken Hart (one
eggshell mason’s crooning sigh).


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