GOLDEN DOOR
A cloudy day in June. The silver-
green hearts of cottonwood
shape an eave of old
whispers overhead – over
Hobo’s sleepy crown. He drifts
along the riverbank
like wind. Who to thank
for this vagrant splendor? Lifts
one eye to meet mauve milkweed
flowerets. The milky
pod will land later. He
recalls the King of Butterflies – his seed
of fire, smoking bloody thorns
out of the House of God.
Beyond Land of Nod
dawn twilight hovers between horns;
the Minotaur, hideout collapsed,
glances sideways now –
he’s facing you, Hobo.
Ennui & self-disgust snap
shut his labyrinthine face.
An intellectual
despair (material
forces define our fate) will place
disconsolate Ophelia
& lonely Juliet
upon the parapet
of Golden Gate. Barefoot pariah-
poet joins them (leaves behind
one dusty pair of loafers).
Ice coats the Minotaur’s
sealed lips. Hobo’s refined friend
Henry wavers on river-ridge.
He breathes deep. Steadies
himself. Watches eddies
spread calmly (from Stone Age).
A tiny flint, like mustard seed
planted its yellow point
in Henry’s mother-heart.
The soul is feminine, she said,
her clay says welcome to the plant.
A fishy pie plate
*
framed between what
look like Twin Cities’ restaurant
cartwheels? Double helix, welded
with rows of keys... inside
a box of buffalo hide... ?
Disc-knot, or gyroscope... plaid
4-leaf clover in a Star of David
spun toward peace...
Frisbee (call the police)
or flying saucer? Air-bridged
harbor, so she sang – a lightning
prism. New Colossus
in the live-oak moss –
her beacon-hand. Smiles, welcoming.
Grain of the laborers trains Henry’s
unison. His ancient sigh
for Juliet-Eurydice
brings grey-eyed Emma Lazarus
out of a purple sea – her Liberty.
The seed of fire is Love –
soul’s only treasure-trove;
find Her & you have found Me
too, murmured the grey ring-dove
whose cloudy wings unveil
a glinting copper seal –
bright penny from the King’s alcove
(of Lincoln logs & Memphis marble
made). Now Henry sleeps
in Charley-oak – he keeps
the crown of Manitou arboreal
while Hobo swims down Milkweed River
branch to branch, & limb
to limb. Says, Go find him
who seeks you in deep-end despair.
Love’s gyroscopic equilibrium
(from seed-beginning
to rose-blooming
end) is manifest Wisdom;
she dances like a cloverleaf
until you turn with her
into that Golden Door –
her almond Agape (undying life).
6.29.17
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