Poem 140: Easter Isle and the Storm Out to Sea.

if light standing
should cast a stone
there would be singing
in this place,
where summer is beached
and shimmering
as waves toll the bell
over this twilight
of shattered shells,
where once the
archaic spiders
worked their charm
over this web of Eden .
and the grey gargoyles
of cathedral inspiration
laughed risqué
as the happy rogues
who in the wink of an eye
rode the blushing pulse
fee simple in the groin
-legacy obbligato-
where in the grass
cane is able
to sweeten the pot
as honey tracks
the ghosts of the golden hive,
specifying form
to defy, bend
then idolize gravity
as a totem
that poles the darkness
into the saved light
of the meridian circle,
-largo equatorial-
as the rafting sea,
radiant as always
washes over, watches over
another landfall
of fell stones
on Easter the wandering isle,
as fey dreaming
muscles the rock
mulls the ocean,
and molds the stone
as sand for the kingdom come
-legato angelicus-
holds the song
by the throat
on this hurricane coast
as cherubim howl
and storm out to see
the stoned light,
now almost as bright
as the second coming.