egalitarian cathedral

CEDAR HIDEAWAY

In this rough wooden octagon

in the backyard, wrapped

in frayed mosquito nets,

in mid-April, Henry will try again.

The anniversary of Abe Lincoln

rhymes with a shock in Paris.

Notre Dame no longer is

bedecked with lilies for communion.

Entourée de flammes ferventes

Apollinaire, at Chartres

peeks through his bandages

back toward her... makes his lament.

This humble cedar hideaway.

Chaste April light.

The massive stone takes flight

from every heart, with equal sway.

Like a fool in a mystery play,

a cloddish egalitarian

circus, is the Son of Man.

Anti-king, anti-autocracy,

he rides the shoulders of a donkey

(Henry’s stubborn mule

from Berryman misrule

locale) on Muddy journey to the sea;

he’s Jonah, prophet of humility

and poverty, flung to America

to give the motherland a caw –

lift a palladium for Lady Liberty.

4.16.19

it begins w'Thou

ROSE ISLAND

If I had a mind like Aristotle

Augustine or Aquinas

able with calm patience

to unfold the metaphysical

origami of the whole

rose-petalled ensemble

of creation, mon semblable...

– shimmering Ocean River, roll!

Everything hinges on a little tree

– willow or almond,

sycamore, elm –

transmuted into living body;

tall ash, strong oak of poetry

spilling Imago Dei

(with verbal carpentry)

into an Argo-trimmed Horus-eye

of Providence.  It begins w’Thou.

Psyche’s agate lamp

winking through the swamp

of live-oak garlands signals true

(one if by land, two if by sea)

– leads on to victory

over my own frailty –

out of buried man, a new Henry!

Where the rose Venn diagram

of departed lips whispers

through golden calipers

a reconciliation of I am

              *

& ever shall be (simple psalm

adrift over clay towers)

cloisters the eye’s powers

in immaculate seaworthy emblem –

mandorla (your birchbark canoe).

O light of knowledge

from beyond knowledge,

heart’s mystic bridge mirrored below

at River’s edge!  Whose Jonah lifts

dove-light from deeps,

& as a dolphin leaps

beyond Atlantic hieroglyphs

the figure of an infant Son of Man

bobs in her coracle

newborn – primordial

origin, eye of hurricane!

The free conscience, soul liberty

subsists within your peace

which passeth, Golden Fleece –

lamb of the Lammas loaf, mercy

& flame of lambent fellowship;

stone mosaics in Ravenna

& the tomb of Alighieri

radiate the scent... lambs skip

there, in the cradle of our limbs,

beneath the opening flower

of your glance!  O bower

& rose island – spring of river-hymns!

3.12.19

milk of All Souls'

DARTING GLANCE

               to Reinhard Genzel & Andrea Ghez

For decades, the rival astronomers

– Genzel, male, & female

Ghez – aimed instrumental

eyes toward the heart of the cosmos –

muted piano key of the galaxy.

Genzel flung his telescopic

javelin (atmospheric

annihilator) toward a dusty

shoulder of Chiron (the man-horse,

Sagittarius) while Ghez

gazed from the Andes,

waiting, measuring her course.

From the center of the Centaur

the whisper of a signal,

as from Eye of Bull.

As if from his maze, a Minotaur

murmured – beckoned toward his lair

in the galaxy’s grave

(her gravity-cave,

light-shrouding tomb of Milky Way).

As if across the Black Sea

the shadow of the Argo,

like a winged hippo-

horse, shaped signal-symmetry –

echo of those sunken galleys

encrypted on the salty

floor – an Ariadne-

thread from Sagittarius

                *

as on a line from eye to Ghez

its waver-tremor moved

from Memphis to beloved

son... a bullet-train (just MLK’s).

We’re standing on that floor of sound.

The black hole marks an end

for time & space – a frond

of palm marked Jonah, on a ground

of milky whale-spume.  There

he stands, in her eye

of hurricane – not angry,

mild – her Son of Man, her heir

of air, from navel of gravity

humming his servant-

song (for a new advent

of justice, lovingkindness, charity).

Where Ocean River shapes galactic

horseshoe lakes (whorls,

eddies of fresh worlds

and clear water) your prophetic

Nazir chants his invitation

to return to life – joy

spiraling unceasingly

from springing restoration

of all things; eternity

undying, in that heart

where all the rivers start –

her darting glance, from middle C.

10.31.18

musing on time passing

OPEN SEA

Hobo lingers in his old hideout,

musing on Time passing

inexorable, unceasing.

Even that Son of Man, no doubt,

is subject to the steady stream.

That He rose from the dead

after the carmine dogwood

petals bled... is like a dream –

when broken Magdalen beheld

Him, held Him tight

as she lay, hid by night

stone still, in sleep – felled

by the noon nightmare upon the hill.

It is a mystery

too deep for Hobo, or for me.

Jesus submitted to the Father’s will –

not on Golgotha, but with every beat

of that red pulsing wheel

of Ocean River (waxy seal

for human honeycomb – complete

sweet sign of infinite benevolence).

My yellowing maroon

& off-white leaf-pontoon...

my Hobo raft snaking past violence,

my dogwood octagon, shaved off

by Time into a simple

convex fish-vessel...

my melting hexagon, snow-staff

                *

of almond blooms, shading a well

in Palestine... stone skiff

leaping Gennesaret – if

only all these metaphors knot in one spell!

The spiral of a fingerprint

in limestone sea-cave

might unfurl a concave

hour-glass – etch kind intent

in pregnant sheets aslant the wind.

Each step taken, each

wave-slap on the beach

will glance to faceted perfection – find

ripe summa in a planetary plan;

the ants have theirs, Hobo

his role to play – go

find her, who unveils the sun of Man!

Magnanimous dome (Emanu-el’s)

on Morris Avenue,

your turtleshell (blue

arc of sky over her Book of Kells)

circumferences a shady tree

of leafy ladders (Jacob’s,

Jonah’s... Honest Abe’s).

We climb together, you & me,

through thunderclouds of poetry –

counting the heartbeats

as we rise... fleets

thread the Gate, to open sea.

7.10.17

the Ariadne pattern

INGLE EYE

A wild white rose at the side of the house

bloomed just today

like the city of Dioce

on green clover stairway   Spouse

Sister   in clusters of stars

Who are you?   Magdala

Stone   mosaic   of gala

winefest   little swirl of squares

corn-maze   around an ingle eye

your single sigh

the keystone   by-&-by

(little fiddlehead fern   turning pern-

kernel   the axle of the ax)

as Icarus   burning wax

falls   cataracts

into Grotto J   (relax)

on Chartres nave-pavement   discern

the Ariadne pattern

that angry monks   learn

magnanimity   & turn

again   as falcons gyre   into

the sun   (mild   smile

on earth   mile upon mile)

the Son of Man   is fashioned true

whisper those lips   of windblown rue

Jessie Ophelia   your

leaves of grace   empowered

to plow   deep rose   to emerald blue

5.31.16

Along Path P

INFANT BROW

At the crossroads, the just man suffers

just for being just –

Job, or Boethius,

or Jesus – carrying a load for others.

Dante whispers in Ravenna dusk

near his exile’s end.

Beatrice, penned

in a rose window, sets his task –

to sing the icon that he sees

breathing through granite

as turtledoves through light

gray feathers tune the breeze.

Stillness in time.  Iron history

crowns an infant brow...

the Son of Man, now

turning evergreen (in Maggie’s

almond eye).  The desolations

of a nightmare fade

when that rusty parade

sinks into brown decades (stations

on the prairie).  Mary Morning Star

signals her six ways

along Path P...  Praise

Manitou & Manitou-Child, our

big-eared Bunny Rabbi – he

of the octave melody –

which we sang, Adonai,

before dawn, one Epiphany...

4.11.16

Caw-caw of chi-rho

WRY PLANET

The caw of a solitary crow

tracks its own echo straight

through the sonic vanishing point.

Past fanfare of the here & now

through a pinhole in the iris of Osiris

or some other shadow

Everyking from long ago.

Some Isis Peirce-the-Veil, or Most

High Elephant from Nile-source

cradling Victoria

for Homo Sap (Erecta) –

kindly Melchizedek, primeval Spouse

offering his star-crossed bread & wine

beneath Polaris &

the Twin Cup-Bears

to lift each soul into his milky Sign.

I hear the rasping of an iron swing.

C-row... chi-rho...  Behold –

a shepherd in his fold

of 99 lambkins!  The last king

looks out from bairn-cupola, a crown

of stars.  A gardener

in the graveyard.  Mary’s

pal, incognito (Son of Man).

A retina, streaked with a spectacle

of tears.  Psychopomp

beyond Caesar’s last trump.

Ocean-continuum... wry planet oracle.

3.15.16