the cube of Everyman

LAST CALUMET

The Big Sky we all inherited

glows in the subway light.

Glimpsed through the Reflector-

Net (right thro’ the Western Gate).

Like rays focused on a beam

in Apollinaire’s eye,

mass merged in energy

enough to die – you joined the stream

of unknown soldiers (Harry Poilu,

Joe Middleman) fusing

with bronze sea-gong

(tall, serpentine).  It boomed for you.

A copper coin, at the bottom of a well

with Choctaw profile, Roman

grin.  The cube of Everyman

only squint of salt – a dry seashell.

Roger the Seeker seeks his soul

in that upper air (a wind

so free).  Love pinned

him to the still-life door – oak bole

of union, preternatural;

a chrysos-oil in old

dry woods (cold

boughs, so late-imperial).

Gold thread, gold hair.  Apollinaire

smokes his last Calumet.

Salt breeze, dockyard, fishnet.

Doves in grey clouds disappear.

3.23.16

This old man goes rolling home

SPRING-STEP

Sunlight glints in flash-of-gold

on blue-gray lashes, curling

sea around each green-

black pupil glancing from cold

Pontus-depths, like lacquered pearl.

Each soul hath such a wild

wee isle – immurèd child

of even-star, whose raven whorl

beams out of everwhirr – bright

innocent prinkster, fleet-

footing the complete

spring-step, so shamrock-intricate;

Tara, Soissons, Iona know

how low she twirls, she droops

before her leaping swoops

a coign... Elijah – let her go!

Light-nimble Columba... thundery-

coot’red Geraldine... – fits

Geraldine, the crown fits

Geraldine!  In a wheel of clay

through the eye of time – in a ray

of light, through a feather-

full of waterfalls... there,

there!  Look there!  A catenary

clover-span!  Four-folded spire,

planted on copper penny-

whistle... one milky-

black Eire-eye rose Paycock-fire!

3.17.16