VERMILION FLEM
Late afternoon. Light sound
of soprano bell, from bass
drone of freight train
over river-bridge. Nothing profound
(just slightly wistful). A poet keeps
time. In the ear’s recess,
faint heartbeat-stress
marks passage of the sheep
over the dream-track. Nothing more
nor less. Down N’Orleans way
the Indians are gay
tonight, beaded with coronation Flor
del Rio del Espiritu Santo. Amen
& hallelujah, hey-
ey-yo. Let us pray
for the grain of wheat, the salty bran
of liberation (touch of soul,
Touchstone). So dance
your way into the trance,
Hal Marie! & remember, all –
tomorrow’s Lent (already). The square
of ash upon your brow
a sailor’s salty vow
to steady as she goes (fair,
kind & true). His hand waves from
the deep – he’s called Acorn.
He wears an English crown
of oakleaf (he’s Vermilion Flem).
2.9.16
