O, & that train-horn's plangent testament…
a yawning in the basement of its chord.
Suspended between iron tracks – echoed
by time, space, homesickness. O, Henry's
foolish fundament. Concave to complex...
the womb of fading notes, where we played
hide-&-seek (you, me, brother Bluejay –
a winsome foursome). Into the dome's ex-
cathedra doom (only air & light, afloat
on high). & it's not the beautiful Madonna
with chambered sea-blue glance of tesserae,
nor the blunt cruelties of Will-to-Dominate
there... only the geometry of yearning
(Ariadne). Only turn the rosewood handle
90 degrees – until the humiliated sundial-
pinetree lifts to the pole star (ice, burning).
So a bent polarity's natural desire for beauty
leans toward recognition. Supernatural charity –
the childhood of the soul in God – a hobo liberty
bestowed in 2nd berth (long whistle-wail)... O my
Siberious hilaritas, Yurodivy! This your
early birch-tree cry – a sap with honey!
This our business – O, Eternity! Eternity!
Whose pigeon sails past Bosphorus, Marmara...
These implications of Great Northern routes –
when the tree & the forest, the frost
& its each miniature fir-whorl, herringbone &
firmly cleave. Toward one vermilion threadlight.