MOON-BEAR
Hobo crawled out of a hollow log
like a moon-bear from hibernation.
The River held him in suspension
between breaths, heartbeats (in a fog).
Have you never loved & suffered, Henry?
Do you comprehend soul-agony?
He was a Man of Sorrows, he –
acquainted with grief – like a lost penny
(Lincoln?) at the bottom of a well.
I have, Hobo.
If you want to know
I too be tarnished imago, two steps from hell.
Like who. But I carry this flashlight
handed me by Lightning
Littletree one morning
(way back, in Providence). It all right.
Or going to. Everything you see
is a fresco-dream,
June-bug – the triple beam
searchlights all round (Imogen Dovie
in your mind). I see you grinning,
Beatrice. Bunny Rabbi
and Ignatz O’Lamb, too (hi).
This IGNIS NATURA RENOVATUR thing –
will it spin in the sky? Little Bear,
Big Bear? In a sloppy gyre
you may bespiral somewhere
sometime, Hobo... in your underwear?
King David hopped like a rabbi
alongside the canoe. Micòl
was like... O well.
The pure fire is restoration, Jun-eye.
7.17.19
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