DARK PILLARS
The cottonwood leaves are golden,
beaten thin by frigid air.
Graphene hearts, everywhere
now (mid-October). What is Man?
that Thou take heed of him?
Flesh tends to disappear.
To fade – but not before
these bright medallions of seraphim
sail swiftly from the autumn tree.
Invisible beehives
of honey-gold enclaves
cluster like galaxies, ring you & me –
it is that via media,
that midway midéwé
colloquy – humbly
clustering from 6-way
crystalline antipodes – path P
of Providence, the clear
circumference (here
now & everywhere) of high Sophie.
Nerve-center of the flesh-toned bridge
uniting matière, esprit;
Venn diagram, complete
ellipse of air, water & light – edge-
mingled man-&-woman bloom,
transmuting rage & fright
with wisdom’s calm delight
to reconcilement’s sun-filled room
*
from midnight Minneapolis
(by way of Providence)
into your honey-dense
dawn star-forest – Cosmopolis.
Stars in the deep blue flag echo
that secret Jubilee,
when all the nations will be
reconfigured from the roots of woe
into one level plain of soul
equality & liberty.
So Salvator Mundi
implies, through Leonardo’s ball
of crystal – meek & sheepish mule
of a Franciscan king
correcting everything
with one orthogonal gesture, one smile.
Jesus is for sale at Christie’s, now;
the Earth is up for grabs
as well, it seems; crabs
gather in their gaudy, gilded scow
to celebrate the arrogance of rule;
our men of violence
fill up sad prisons,
cemeteries. Is Man a Fool?
No... just blind. Tall cottonwoods
stand, lean together –
dark pillars, that weather
storms of gold in planetary neighborhoods.
10.16.17
