SILVER TRACK
Summer’s gliding toward those falls.
The sumac swords are rusted
iron. Below the nested
locks (St. Anthony), swift sculls
are water-spiders on a dragon’s back.
Hobo Larva... Henry
Woodpecker, monarch (maybe)...
all worm, Noman? Whose silver track,
mercurial, serpentine? I was
the wolf in Sheep’s Clothing,
tearing Ariadne’s weaving,
trading lux for lechery (luxurious);
I was the shadow of the waxing moon
purling beneath Pearl Harbor
Day – casting her bitter
part across the bar (Frisco Lagoon).
Now crickets rattle in the looming dusk,
a chorus, waiting in its wings.
1132, the catgut sings –
our heavy grave (in one cicada husk).
Only the lightest antigravity
can spark the dark menorah
in the heart of King Henrah.
Lonely almond of sheer pity
welling forth Father of Waters...
what was Magdala stone
becoming human Union
(steely pontoon, welding 4 quarters).
9.16.19
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