Hobo's New Year Address

VENETIAN GALLEYS

The gentle adagio of these

yellow butternut leaves

like Venetian galleys

cantering down into the grass.

The slim ribs & spine of each

a gilded replica

of that emerald armada

still tethered to its summer beech.

Prophetic microcosm, georgic

farewell speech.  The poem

wavers down to home

so... some big moody Amerique

or bottomland Berryman mound.

Hobo will mutter her.

He misses her forever

sunk by fratricidal wound.

We cannot remain free unless

we recognize each other

in ourselves, bro – so your

Uncle George cries in the wilderness.

Hobo would touch the iron swing,

its rust-corroded spring,

chi-rho, chi-rho.  Wing,

Raven, down to Mexico – sing

autumn’s monitory mirror.

Minotaur must turn anew.

Like Rosh Hashanah, you

shall too.  O Planet, hear.

9.21.17