haunted scent

ANCIENT SPRING

My soul, like a woodchuck hidden

in Old Charley’s Oak,

must be lit by a stroke

of lightning even to begin –

like that gold spearman on the dome

in Providence, icon

of limpid Everywomban –

Williams’ independent spirit, come

to revolve like Gabriel Crozier-Torch

around his merry Morning

Rose (see Alighieri’s singing

sky).  An Ocean Island (search

Queequeg’s tattoos).  A green Tahiti

lapped by peaceful Ocean

River – Night Sea span,

gold-threaded geometric Ratio,

squared rail-split Israel rondure

(Galilee of Lincoln-

logos, all for one

& one for all).  O armature

of lovely Law!  Fleet safety net

bracing each breathing sheep

with her own fleece... keep

dangling in catenary grace!  Yet

lift the lilies of your haunted scent

until the spirit in us

brims past avarice,

hot pride – guide to your tent

                *

under Polaris & the prancing

Bears, where free children

ripple the utmost common

well.  Like Addams, balancing

book-learning with hand-work,

art with science, freedom

with obligation... some

justice for the beaten fork –

the disenfranchised, cheated poor,

collateral damage

beneath our idol-image

(smoking low sulfuric Boor

of plump kin-pride & greed).

So Hobo Henry muttered

by the mud-brown flood

of Mississippi river.  Honey-mead,

sweet sea-salt air of tamaracks...

the vaulting spire of Dante-

tracks filter the ray

that flies orthogonal – strikes

Roman iron with Hebrew vine.

Gold thread (Apollinaire’s

trompette marine) bears

light into the grain combine –

sun through the moss-green shade

above the ancient spring

(a Restoration thing).

So in a Maker’s aye all things are made.

4.28.17