ALMOND-BREAD
This weightless branch of butternut
floats in the August stillness
like palm-frond of Isis
in sky-barge of Cleopatra-Nut.
Earth grown deserted as a pyramid.
Nothing moves in silence
like Lion-Sphinx
crouching with a question on her eyelid-
casket – just for you, Orpheus-
Oedipus. Your arcane
cane limps against the grain,
gone serpentine... a missing Theseus.
Where’s Ariadne then? Arise,
light Jonah-seer, sweet
grey-eyed sister! Meet
him in the wrinkles of the Minotaur’s
disguise, find him in the stone face
sleeping like a Roman guard –
motionless, Medusa-hard,
until your gardener grins in his place.
She’s kneading my clay now, adamantine
mother of amusement.
All the way to Mount
Moriah, she’s dragging my crown.
She’s molding the planet, children –
shaping this loafer into ships
of almond-bread, with those lips.
Those eyes are sparks for tinder-men.
8.9.18
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