ROSE QUARTZ
The delicate crystallographer
chipped at rose quartz
in a mica mirror. What’s
wrong with the signal? Fuzzier,
now, out of Nazireth. We’re
missing the calendar,
oh hazy November –
have to find a new atmosphere.
Hobo (along jungle river)
envied that lofty poet
on the hilltop. What
brings you here, Indian-giver?
The Song of Minnehaha (Henry
Wordfish Lungfellow);
light black-&-yellow
swallowtail (aye, amen, Re).
In Happy Hunting Ground,
HHG. Your twin
brother – like the sun
breaking through Narragansett Sound –
when morning stars sang all together,
hearty & brave (children
from incandescent freedom-
sun). Under the tender tether
of ineffable Intellect O
lambent star (Grace
Ravlin Falcon-Ace)
with Notre Dame at zero-
*
hour. Your brother is a simple
carpenter, Hobo. He
studied Victimography
with Cyber-Ciphering, & Ample
Anthropology (Social Jeering) –
yet loved that golden
bubble (in the cauldron
of the level) more than anything.
Because the sense of being right
flows like a burbling
stream – wondering
into verbal dirigible... bright
speaking thundercloud... imaginary
friend of Liberty
(Decembrist charity –
Crimean exile, Pushkin-boy).
The government of Liberty
is of consent, not force;
our kingdom of remorse
enfolds Redemption at its source. See,
child? We have outlived the Minotaur;
Ariadne’s simple thread
leads to your kindred
by the glowing gemstone samovar
of hearthblaze – everlasting joy
warm crystalline kingdom
rose-violet freedom
smokehole to Wakan Tanka in the sky
11.25.18
