BIG DIVE
In the steep ravine shading the river
Hobo’s eyes follow
smooth limbs upward, so –
into a cloud of silver-green shimmer,
Columbian sky-nest
of cottonwoods. His squint
moseys like scattered flint –
mishmash out of Ocean states
into some kind of Land o’ Lakes
matryoshka doll, or Land
o’ Goshen Big Rock Candy
Mountain. The poet is a sacred
fool (or cataleptic converter)
& every shepherd’s an
effete abomination,
just a bump under a bumpkin tower.
Hobo keeps an eye on Henry,
ambling up there
on River Road. Air-
head royale, full of acorn honey,
soldering his Goshen stone
into a manic-hollered
coat of caustic red
Rhode Island rooster-throne –
a sharpened archaic Goshen point
left at Minnehaha
Falls by some Ojibwa
dream-boat. The time is out of joint
*
he cries, with a Norwegian accent –
O Jessie, O Ophelia,
my little tree, Columbia!
Come tripping back unto the oak tent
once again, out of the Ocean foam!
Flip your big dive, big Dove,
into reverse – for love
of Yahweh, & of Manitou, & home
sweet home! An infinite Intelligence
invisible as air,
kind as mon cher
Francesco, wise as Providence,
clear as the sky vaulting these gray
heart-leaves – our octave,
Henry, Hobo... wave
on wave, on wave (lithe sun-ray).
From the standpoint of ineffable Person –
an infinite free Spirit
(older than Cautantowwit,
with all his Raven-wit) – a Someone
omnipresent, serving restoration
to a hurt creation – mercy
exudes like oak-tree honey-
gall. Some smiling heart-shaped cotton-
wooden crossroad Livingstone –
green-gowned Sophia
traipsing Milky Way-a
Sarabande (one, two, three... one).
6.12.17
