Lanthanum Road 4.24


Indian summer. Passage to midwinter,
secret (iron spring). Under a patchwork
blanket of maple leaves, their petrified arc
of windblown barcaroles. O flimsy splinter,

needling life's flighty, threadbare fabric
Seen in the distance, through your mobile
veil – the labyrinthine line of some elliptical
mandala. Through the vortex (imbricated)

of analogies, one petalled idler wheel –
one mote of water-spider yachts... one
water-lily. Floats up from phoshor bone
of an old man's memories... their buoyant

seal. Their gravity adrift, toward yon
zero Someone (diamond-cleft, earth-
turned, earth-toned agate – absolute
birth-red Rahab-canal) whose well will

be done
. & in a cluster of chrysanthemum
& sea-roses, the old man in the canoe
steps toward the precipice (Narragansett moon-
stone – Cautantowwit – above funerary wigwam) –

shoulders a catenary arc there (in the center
of the earth). It is some Finnish sampan,
or Sea Lord's junk – some Winnie's
lurching seahorse (4 hands clock its perimeter);

with Indian Jade tree mast, & figurehead
of red-fringed forest fiddlehead (or dark-eyed
jay), the flagship Toot-Monde launches (pied
palomino) forth – unknown, remembered...

with fractured idiom of cockney cry
the infant Word reverts to its willow-
rimmed frame; from osier-bow, lips
mime the monastery of a prairie sky.