THREE BEARS
Behind fine axe-hewn basalt
of the Incan hive, an eye
like Aaron Siskind, maybe –
quick, delicate, alert.
Mortised ramparts of any state
mark its mandala-border;
stone blooms of order
warp twisters of love & hate.
Only this human heart of flesh
harbors invisible diamond –
petal-scent of almond,
marzipan snowstorm (baked fresh).
Imagine one simplified snowflake
in three dimensions, spinning
like a gyroscope (one wing,
one leg) after one thunder-shake
of glassy dome – Will’s trident, maybe
in a late romance (Blackfriar’s
globe). King Henry sires
trouble for himself – falls into sea
pursued by Bear. Near Normandy,
flagship goes down – she’s lost,
it seems – until at last
Hermione steps forth, sleepy...
La Paix (familial, civil, global)
breathes yet, to dance once more.
It was Sir Thomas More,
lapped in bearskin, at the North Pole
*
who played the bear, who played the fool;
who played Disoriented Lamb
bleating I am, I am,
who flit the snowflake (melting soul);
his mother (Everywoman, from
Mulberry Street) wept
for the shame; she slept,
& it was glory in the end. Hum
flickers (pictures in a whisper gallery).
The cranium of Unknown
Soldier wears the crown.
Empires of high frozen sophistry
shudder beneath an infant’s smiling
gaze. It’s not the wise
who find the way (surprise!)
but every lovey-dovey Sing-Sing
resident – repentant heart, meek
mule. Chaste planetary
hearth, Psyche-egalité –
bright thunder-akme... slant, oblique
world-pirouette... Hagia Sophia
in a peacock’s fan. Tango,
barefoot kid’s fandango
under the sky-vaults in Ravenna –
light of my light & yours,
Waltz of Three Bears
by Mendelssohn. Flares
Franciscan, by Pacific shores.
6.14.17
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