SOUL SCOUT
i.m. Fr. Jacques Hamel
You breathe a mist over stained glass,
like a cloud over Mirror Lake,
by the trolley road to Blake
(in Mendelssohn). Rouen, alas.
In Chartres nave, one dark gray
thread still navigates
J-whorl, on golden agate –
Ariadne’s Way (sealed crypt to Day).
Her catenary smile will make
a lazy loop through Space
in Time; her carapace
a turtleshell – sweet curve you take
through clouds like whales, Jonah –
to find an old mercy-go-
round anew. Like Jessie O.
on racy waterwheeler, sunray-
rain-bowed – Lady Liberty
an echo of Cahokia,
a salience of Royal Oak
(lips’ kayak lifting word to be).
Deep breath, Path P, Rhodos.
Out of a barbed-wire
cat’s-cradle (rust pyre
of Minotaur-empire) you rose –
winded with old George, the breadwinner,
& Maggie, of the veritas
caput – where Brandywine flows
into 4 Pine River (soul scout’s honor).
7.26.16
