her smile shall win

GAZEBO SKEIN

Sultry evening in the Twin Cities.

The earth.  My mother’s kiln

stoked like Jersey landfill

with Dante’s willful souls – at ease

like oil on fire.  My moss-green vines

climb the gazebo skein.

Oblomov lived in vain

& died, sweet gentleman.  My light declines.

Oblomov dreamt a febrile dream,

icon of idle summer

grace.  Her lips murmur

& tickle his ear – Awake, Sunbeam...

Dante, shaken, shudders with Love

& epileptic ecstasy;

parallactic Ocean Sea

& shadowy Argo up above,

Emperor Henry on chariot-throne

of Rhodian charity.

A band of silver-grey

light-thread knots chords – the drone

of universal B-flat (Kingdom Come

with trombones, clarinet

& flute) – At Last.  FIAT.

Oblomov lifts his balding dome,

his heavy lashes... orange twin

pillars hold one Ariadne-

loop.  Pacific naiad?

Juliet?  La Paix?  Her smile shall win.

7.21.16

make it new

OLD SALT

Herman riveted to crow’s-nest,

Dante wearing out

his shoes... Weldon, forgot

by Golden Gate, & Berryman, a crust

of snow beside the limestone bank.

Moon rose from sea

with magnanimity,

night’s passionate gravity... & sank

these antithetical children of the sun

beneath immeasurable Ocean-

wave.  Matrix of one

twinkling eye... stuttered translation

from sharks’ dogma to Cutty Sark

sped rondure-eloquence –

an Ocean River sense,

human inheritance (almond birthmark).

The old salt bears his Southern Cross 

as shark-tooth earring,

tattooed heart.  The singing

shrouds (sea-urge, wave-moss)

remind him of Jonah, lost infant

of the crew – of Jasper,

& Francesca too – Ariel

in Ravenna pines (al fresco fundament).

Make all things new.  An emerald gong

plumbs planetary tides –

sun-shimmer plies

Gennesaret to Tuscan hills (all-human song).

7.13.16

in a land of Gerrhi

LITTLE BUNDLE

Light cottonwood fluff-motes drift

from high green vaults

along the river, Walt.

Thy hobo-hymn floats like swift

Scythian swallows   over the steppes

Gerrhi   in a land of Gerrhi

gray   milkers of mares

Geloni   like Jonah   swallowed up

& cast-off   by the sea again

like an exiled raven

scouring   the salt-sown

slate   for breadcrumbs, broken

limbs, dry vines   any sign

of home, of motherland

Guillaume would understand

Colossus of roses   tall man

grown meek   bemused upon his own

Bermuda   who bears a little

salt-bundle   close to heart

lifted six ways   a hexagon

grown octagonal   a diamond

have salt among yourselves

& plant   peace shelves

atop green Andes   condor-monde

Thus crooned the shuffling friar

under orange garage door

over grey sea-floor   as

poplars, nigh Gellone   signed, Ephphatha

6.10.16