slow crane-dance


The beech, a symphony of copper & grey
shimmers her palimpsest
of summer light.  Her host
of rust-green leaves filters the day

with fleecy shade.  In Providence
her hidden rings girdle
a slow crane-dance, a Gödel
harmony (irrational coherence)

stepped on the diagonal, a zigzag
pattern toward the center
while her limbs counter
equivocal winds.  Like a limping stag

the Minotaur (a forsworn king)
marks ink-scratches in concrete
with his third (wooden) foot.
They cannot be erased – the bee-sting

on the tongue of that stung beast
is like a humming bumble-
bird, bearing his humble
master on a mule (the least

shall be the greatest in your midst,
Great Scot).  When fair
is foul, weird sister,
and a hole is in the wholeness,

& the onion odor of this Union
hovers through the orange
facade of rough strange
battlements... the regal One


comes drifting like an eagle-sun.
Immaculate integrity
of breathing Truth will be
the seal on that bright Lincoln-coin –

of the people, by the people, for
the people... after the .44
that brings black milk before
the beech flowers (in Mendelssohn).  Our

infinitely gentle bunny Rabbi
– sire of reconciliation,
smiling Sun of Man –
shall stand again in one rose eye

of green & copper Liberty
whose burning torch will come
to this dunce inane – wisdom
will shine from Bozo Nana (dotty

Henry with his dancing bear,
jaded whit-knight from
Column B) despite him-
self : because a solidarity there

glows like green limestone from the depths
a city of straight pines
out of the matrix shines
where Jason is plowman   & Jonas

mans the prow   & merry Magdalen
raises her almond lens
yodeling earth-&-heaven’s
rhombic square dance (Topsy Ravenn).


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