AUTUMN NIGHT
My biographical Brown Decades tumbled
rapidly by, in Providence.
How simply the silence
of these beseeching trees (autumn
at the Arboretum) speaks to me!
Alex Weinstein, in Mt. Auburn...
stood there with Sandy (Grecian
Urn? Likely committed it to memory).
He played the violin at 91.
Emigré from Odessa –
fruit-fly research @ Columbia –
loved poetry & science... (thread-thin,
stooped, seraphic gentleman
of Cambridge Mass.) –
& so the fleet years pass,
callow Henry, to Thanksgiving (amen,
amen). I put my faith in one
contextual canoe –
dry tacit Quaker taboo
against unquestioned superstition;
a sort of Boston Personalism
accepting each whorl
of conscience as the real
sign of some ineffable wisdom –
spring, source, coil, J
spiraling beneath a moon
brighter than cogitation
tonight... in a jumbled chaos of hay
*
stacked (by osmosis-creation)
across twistronic history
into graphene infinity.
Histrionics of pacemaker nation?
No, kid – it is the equilibrium
of a canoe or gyroscope
emanating (spilling hope)
out of the heart of the Imperium
accosting the Seizer of All Good
with adjusted reciprocity
of infinite mercy –
that normative hearth-neighborhood
established on the everlasting rock
of I & Thou, of eye
& dhou (equality
the ratio of the basic J’nah-Ark).
& so the weird Isis-receptacle
of Mirror-I-Am
fuses in twin-rhyme
with Notre Dame; so the spectacle
of male narcissism becomes unviable
at ordinary crowing
of Rhode Island Red – being,
like palm at the end of the mind, able
to hoot like Owl o’Athena
in the autumn night of
history (the shadow of love
bending over your cradle) Ephphatha
11.5.19
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