tricksters in the cricket cities

PATCHWORK SHEPHERD

The river sweeps by the bent cottonwoods

toward autumn.  Time

& history resolve to rim

their force into a wave, a wheel.  The goods

bob & drift downstream, with the detritus –

the tomb of Alighieri

& the other desperadi

all the tricksters in the cricket cities (Paris,

Petersburg, St. Paul) fiddling their gusli

merge into a chord

like an infant beechwood

or broken font in Florence – one little tree

of plumb transfigurement, beneath

the arms of a patchwork shepherd

(Sant’ Apollinaire).  One almond

word melds stars into a wreath

to crown that brow (who is Liberty) –

she mutters... You who incite

fools to violence, who delight

in murder & grief, know not Me;

you who terrorize your spouse, & oppress

your neighbor, know not Me;

the blind man can see

what you cannot see, the deaf woman hears

what you cannot hear, the 4-year-old child

knows Me better than you.

So the little tree (a beech, a yew)

marked X the spot (where Psyche smiled).

8.30.16

ineffable mosaic sky

CLOUD-FEATHERS

The air so brilliant & clear today

beside the Bronze Age river.

The railroad bridge hovers

over its reflection – a light play

of diagonals, like water-spiders

on a pond, or cloud-feathers

above the Jordan, tethered

to a steadfast figure (Jasper’s

orant mariner, circumferencing

gray sea with shady palm).

That chanting shepherd, calm

beneath an indigo wheel of blazing

stars... one cheerful face beaming

from the medallion

in Classe (Apollinarian)

under darkened wooden ceiling

of abandoned ship, beached in pine-

swamp, at Ravenna’s edge.

Mere icons of a human pledge

so simple, local, omni-Byzantine –

ineffable mosaic sky

where Love bends waves

to lift us from our graves

into a metamorphosis   kind Aye

above halo of tears   you streak

with serpentine arches

agios   agios   agios

one river-rainbow   in an eagle’s beak

7.29.16

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