my Hobo Code coffee cup
WAVE-THRUMS
I’m coming to the crown of the river-tree
& the mouth of the copper serpent
following Hobo, where she bent
toward the Delta of American poetry.
& there’ll be singing & dancing, each clown
hootin’-&-a-hollerin’
& dressed up like an Indian
to celebrate the simple joy of Union.
& I’ll trail behind Benjamin Latrobe
the good mason of Washington
taking after his dear son
to build a floating city from mosquito-glob;
I’ll watch that Phoenix-bird arise
like an evening Jonah,
spreading her ghost-persona
wings from Frisco Bay to Providence
to shade the children from the burning sun
& fly them to a new playground
where wave-thrums sound
their steady oceanic Truth for everyone
whose eyes merge in the Sophie-bark
curving over the Churnagogue
(octagonal pine-log
hover-canoe; dynamic-ceramic arc
empowered by the muscled wheel
of hopeful human clay)
– J-stroking toward an Agape
aflow to share, to guide, to lift, to heal.
8.20.19
