last defense
of the castles
& in the stout
retaining wall
wildflowers.

Born of order:
apples, apricots
and soft wine;
out of stoutness
wildflowers

weihgabe
for the ex-voto
crucifiction,
the imprisoned
Virgin mothers

Li Po would approve,
take an old text
a fresh brush,
render new poems
in praise of order

or of beauty:
the soft flesh
the full cup
the wild blossom
out of the rock

or of memory:
friends parted
a mountain road
cups to drown
memories of cups.

Pause breathless
at the ex-voto.
The bus can wait
for one last
gelato, one more

stein in the garden
another cup
of cappuccino
lingered over
with cigarettes

but no, not here:
the Sud Tirol
is not Venice
& we’ve tickets
for the Munich train.

Sweet Jesus
he thought
did you Calvary
that rugged cross
for this lot of
Pontius fools
with clean hands
& consciences
who never suffered
a motherless splinter
much less
a crown of thorns
& never felt
the whistling lash?

Their findings
Do not bind me.
 
A clutch of cuckolds
& bean thieves,
they scrape their faces
bright & shiny
untroubled by guilty
mirrors, who fold
the world’s troubles
for easy reading,
who leave the black
& brown Madonnas
swaying in the aisles
while riding
their fat asses
into the Capitol

I’d grant
these righteous
my curse
of St. Francis,
the mewling
of unattended
children, lost
dogs & a dozen
glossolaliac madmen
as antipostles
to teach them
clear speech

& wild-eyed vision
of all the horror.