like that chaste vision

SERPENT-SPINE

Those Tuscan hills he hymned of, once

in rainy Voronezh.

Winter sunshine flashes

over the Mississippi’s muted bronze.

The exile hums of exiles, like a goldfinch

memorizes Europe;

watch her spectrum envelope

a furious alchemy of wingstrokes (inch

by inch).  So the flappable epileptic

witnesses drab depredations

from his almond branch –

Pope, Emperor… a sick

republic, riven by self-seeking men;

yet the silver line of the river

reminds him of forever

after (law of Righteous One).

Roger, with left hand floating

over the empty void

of a Providence hillside,

preaches the liberty of everything

like that chaste vision Nikolai proclaimed

(equalized humble

multitudes of tumble-

down small shining blooms) – & Osip framed;

& the river, like a serpent-spine

glints across graphite winter –

pencil from the hinter-

lands, crust of salty bread & wine.

2.8.20