Earth's Illuminated Script



Some like iridescent peaks

as daylight fades through fondant veils

of rose and peach

and alphorns and laryngeal arpeggios

echo in the feudal valleys

and summon sprites from peepholes

to the land of fairytales.

Here, scarlet toadstools spring,

edelweiss, blue gentian and alpen-rose,

and cowbells clank their altitude

in misty, leather-bonded notes,

Habsburgs, long forgotten, and life itself

illuminated script,

Zwingli, a faded legend,

and Rome's hard-pinching shoes.


And some seek empty, bone-bleached skies,

inlets where Mother Earth nurtures

swan-chicks and grebes,

and stately reeds and velour rush

stand sentinel about the shell-cooped

brood corralled beneath a snowy pen,

rapt in harmony with nature.

The grebe pilots her zebraed sprigs;

their lesser vectors print the nursery tide,

estuary-bound, where billows buffet,

and rasped hulks of fishing boats

careen upon the pebbled shore

beneath tufted dunes, sea-kale and holly,

and those beribboned rockpools

in which hermit crabs reside.


But many seek exotic climes,

where zephyrs kiss sun-burnished skin

and agitation fades.

All that was is gone, a broken, fretful dream.

And why was it, and where was it?

Where did it go, usurper of content?

For this is surely Paradise, as meant.

Light-cut aquamarine floats in,

promise glints in silken sand,

palms whisper healing incantations.

All is divine fruition, slaked thirst, bounty:

elemental memory plumbs deep,

when lung and limb came up for air

and strove through fecund loam

to cognitive reflection.