Election Restoration Day

BLACK LAMB

Henry’s diary for a dying day

saunters into November.

After Wars to End All War

will Guillem find his smoky way?

Apollinaire in a Sikh turban

waits out the head wound.

Carried to the ground

from a Paris window (11/11).

Long way to Tipperary, Gil.

Grandpa in his macintosh

in Belgium rain... gosh,

long ago, Captain.  Farewell.

So long.  Today’s Election Day.

Are we of the electorate

yet?  Like a checkmate

in a game with yourself, aye –

Reds & Blues – rival brothers

in mired mirror war.

Each bears a torch

for her – the midnight soul mother,

those faces of benevolent fathers

children carry deep

into their forests of sleep.

Only the branding iron cauters

its contrary mosaics (through the Age

of Iron).  Black Elk

troubles the star-milk

with one royal touch (smoky sage-

                   *

brush sand mandala).  Soft, Selkie –

blue dolphin from Skye...

this mournful rage to die

sulks in the dark heart, MLK.

You must lift it from us, black lamb.

Forever & ever, light

candle through the night –

mass-vortex Gal of each I am, I am.

She smiles through waves, ineffable

Wisdom – heart’s foundation,

coracle of liberation.

She lifted Jonah (willing Abel)

into eye of hurricane –

the diamond matrix,

Everysoul’s six

ways – your dream song, Hen.

Her word burns like a fire in the Book

of Love, her Testament.

What Maggie meant

when she saw the young Nazir look

from the bright eyes of the gardener

& shouted, He is risen!

Out from your earth-borne

everlasting fire, world-fashioner!

So Morning Star whorls her self-sacrifice

& Guillaume flings another jest

& Henry’s safety net

swings sister-dove from rigor mortis.

11.6.18