MOSAIC INTERIOR
Hobo sets his sights on Ocean Sky
the cloud-boats drifting
stately, aquamarine
high-masted spinnakers go by
The rusty syntax of the railroad bridge –
necklace for a queen
Romano-Byzantine.
Galla Placidia, maybe... blown to the edge
of warlord chaos, courtier intrigue;
guarding son & heir
with the pale gold hair
(who will not see the Soo Line zigzag
into the forest, north of here).
The mosaic interior
night-blue with stars –
her mausoleum, like an eggshell ear.
Sea-light filters through pinholes
of gold. The grey matière
a granite made of air
hides pigeons, ring-dove souls
within its manifold (octahedral
catacomb). Even
Hobo finds his kin again;
the smile of cousin Jeanne will roll
a tensile thread out of the maze
of time & circumstance –
her light ghost dance
where mountains bloom (sheep graze).
7.7.16
