Scorpionic

Bound in a lampshade, so some say

of the djinn or the Watts of James’ legacy.

Yet some believe he was real (the latter day)

while yet others still feel for Solomon’s genii.

I side with neither. I stick with code

because squaring circles leaves sky exposed;

because clouds checker in high-blue repose,

I know not whence and to where we go.

I know now when the tongue of good report

lashes the eyes of the ark, the cornerstone tort

not tossed, not carved, but of a blazing star:

we are all but light, yet some weigh more.

I still see that shade, casting gloomy appeal

where once one masters of shades’ concealed

by clean hands and minds, lux fiat et lux fit,

yet the acacia casts petals, the 20th conceit.

Why and I oughtta: coulda, woulda, can.

There are no doubt many ineffable things;

whereupon, thereabout, there may be then

a counsel unremissed, a Living Being.

Yours is the eagle, if you believe John,

(greater than James, yet lesser than Paul)

and to take flight is the nature of winged kin

so it is no surprise to you, your ability to ascend.

So it is no reprise for me to say it once again:

I and I ought to, you can never pretend

to be but a Master, compass in hand:

yet to navigate a sea, one must open a dam.