your whiskey mule


The bulb in a wild Chinese lantern
is a bright orange berry,
edible, tart (very).
Little octagon amid the fern-

pine forest, summer Halloween
memento mori; lamp
in Thanksgiving pumpkin,
blood-orange earring for a queen.

My cedar gazebo in the rain
magnifies your painted
facets.  I’m your slanted
saint, beaming gray Bretagne

matiรจre, like old Guillaume d’Orange
in his gelato-cool
Gellone prayer cell –
the armored ape (‘tis passing strange)

grown peaceable & rocky-mild.
Repentant berry-man
in shady homespun
camouflage (as orange span stilled

leaping crag to crag – a frisky
beggar-stag in Frisco
Bay).  My Lady, O
high-hearted votary!  Your whiskey

mule I’ll be – show stigmatized
tattoos you needled through
cliff-jagged river-scars to
radiant Pacific blue... baptized


in Minnehaha Falls – by Manitou!
Her figurehead (surmised
miraculous surprise)
bobs like green fiddlehead, unfurling You!

Blue-green pine haze of Tian Shan,
whose snow-cone peaks
harbor bright lightning streaks
& pure transparency of oxygen...

be like her molten meteoric smile
my natal cog upon
whose wheel of rose spun
hurtling through light’s peristyle

into galactic congregations
sharing pain et vin
Melchizedek’s Come in,
my wounded daughtersprodigal sons!

The berry, man, the berry lives,
though crypted in the cradle
of an origami grail –
sun of Manitou, sum of beehives!

That copper moss-green Lady
in the harbor lifts her torch
as an intelligible iris-arch,
so read the sign : her rainy-shady

smoke-signal, pine-scented candle
of a little tree – her fiery
omnipresent Amor, mirrory
agate Agape, all blumen (mandel).


No comments: