cradle of rain

RUDE EYE

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).

4.27.17