UNBENDING PINE
You hear the rustle of a spring
in the moss forest;
in the immaculate nest
inside the coracle. Outside, nothing.
Milton tutored Williams in Italian;
Roger taught John a mite
of basic Narragansett
collecting firewood around London
to banish winter at the poorhouse.
Here in January ice
beside the river, ICE
is on my mind. The Emperor’s
in league with Herod, every infant
trembles for her life;
Virgo is mummified by strife;
grieving, she murmurs her dissent
from frozen exile on external heights.
Meanwhile sweet Providence
searches for evidence
& Lincoln coins... irrevocable rights.
Your imago, moss copper-serpentine
(between Son of Man
& some unbending pine
of immeasurable heaven) is Washington
redeemed, again; your Virgo (hovering
ethereal triangle
o’er Spotsylvania) might mingle
with Virginia clay... Jonah, recovering.
1.18.19
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