PLAIN CLAY
I have a dream, sang the buffalo-
voice, I have a dream –
when the will to redeem
lifts a heavy soul, bent low
amid murky murmurs of lost
innocence, out of the lake
of fire (nightmare). Take
my hand, come to this Pentecost –
harvest of kid from lambent cave
(wick drawn from water
up to Pharaoh’s daughter –
firefly corn-blaze, flickering in nave).
Lean petrified wraiths gaze, wingรจd
through Ravenna gloom.
Dante walks home,
his lesson fin (carving INTREPID
into night’s milky ark of galaxies).
A net resolves to surf;
a seine makes common turf
out of plain clay – paradoxical
Francisco-mule, clip-clop clumping
until he climb the octahedral
keystone of the cathedral –
orange Chinese lantern, miming
remote & lonely lighthouses
(Rose Island Light, for
Narragansett raven-shore).
Sun in your beak (Cautantowwit’s).
8.28.17
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