LITTLE MOTH
Jesus likely would not recognize
what we have made of him –
exemplar (in rite & hymn)
of royal prehistoric Zeus
or Pharaoh-gilded rain. Human
mind climbs out of beast.
Not long ago, the feast
was drunken heads – the scar remain.
The ink dries on a twisted pattern.
Tyrant’s father-hamlet,
laden sack – fried omelet-
omen (under midnight sun).
A raven zigzags over Noah’s
bow (yew, cypress,
acacia). Her nest
will not be found on land, selah.
Someone, singing a see-saw
in Galilee. Sea-
shanty (shanti, shanti)
maybe. Malcolm? Simone? Naw...
maybe. Light metamorphosis
the order of the day.
Pines, tamarack (way
back beyond Ravenna, Beatrice)...
A little moth molts molten gold
out of black stone,
southwest (of high Zion).
Wings ray to Nazir tinder... (fold).
2.19.16
