Lanthanum Road 4.21


The wide river, and the wide prairie,
the wistful train-hoot carried on the wind.
Hobo, on the old Soo Line; his fiery friend
Pumpkin Man, all black & orange... whee! -

skimming down Heartbreak Trail, toward
Way-Off. Monarchs of mudflats, kings
of milk – their infant, roustabout, mulish
speech rebounds to lowland Indian mound

(breast-work of Pocahontas) half-buried now
in shuttling river-clay. It is the almond Word
a-lit - bedded in the wink of a pumpkin gourd
whose tuneful memoir even a funeral scow

from Minneapolis whistles downstream
(past Resurrection Cemetery, in the snow).
At the end of the line. & now the prow
of barge Bee-of-Good-Cheer slips (I am

Bumble Bee
) unsounded into the flow –
toward St. Louis rendezvous, implicate
(with canoe-spiral) in compassionate
spider-lotos frame. Alms-given, flower-

ribbed – speech folded into delicate
ember-membrane (warm, centripetal)
where it began. & Pumpkin Man (pray tell)
is you Everyman? – so the Word was plotted

for blossoming – unspoke, unspeakable
cascade of sweetness from the root of
streams. Lie down, Hobo – heed the hoot
of your dawn milk-train again (unbreakable).