CEDAR HIDEAWAY
In this rough wooden octagon
in the backyard, wrapped
in frayed mosquito nets,
in mid-April, Henry will try again.
The anniversary of Abe Lincoln
rhymes with a shock in Paris.
Notre Dame no longer is
bedecked with lilies for communion.
Entourée de flammes ferventes
Apollinaire, at Chartres
peeks through his bandages
back toward her... makes his lament.
This humble cedar hideaway.
Chaste April light.
The massive stone takes flight
from every heart, with equal sway.
Like a fool in a mystery play,
a cloddish egalitarian
circus, is the Son of Man.
Anti-king, anti-autocracy,
he rides the shoulders of a donkey
(Henry’s stubborn mule
from Berryman misrule
locale) on Muddy journey to the sea;
he’s Jonah, prophet of humility
and poverty, flung to America
to give the motherland a caw –
lift a palladium for Lady Liberty.
4.16.19
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