Arcana 16
We were in a large cathedral
important to those such as us: lovers
of history, lovers of odd
structures of the mind, hippy-types,
wayward. Some took pictures,
others moved toward a green field,
their faces dark from much sunlight,
bodies tight with exercise.
I was watching in a hall. I heard
a shouting outside and when I looked again
the clouds had become aggressive,
moving toward us, a tornadic wind
circling meaningfully
as if to entrance us with its dance.
Some cried out, take cover.
Most could not. The sky darkened.
Lightning began dropping all around.
I was instantly aware I too was in trouble.
The cathedral was coming down, battered
by storm wind and lethal lightning,
flaming from its spires, it’ll
soon collapse. I left with my skin intact,
thinking every lightning bolt
that fell would certainly scour me.
That the picture was similar to the tarot
card was not wasted on me,
that the divination represents a collapse
of environment, a renegotiation
of possibilities, a surrender
of what at one time was all one knew.
I awoke then, feeling strange.
I pictured Rimbaud and a cow on a hill,
thinking of the cow the
separate wisdom of moving slow through
fields one creates with one’s step,
nearer the will, nearer the embrace, the
top of one’s head alit with Christmas tinsel,
and Rimbaud a voice drawn in chalk.
It was a dream, I thought, looking out my window.
The sun shook the trees of its silver dollars.
I wish you could have seen the disarmament
of the trees in noon time as Rimbaud
was drawn upon my voice with a light blue chalk.
It is recovered, I thought,
it is recovered.
Elias Siqueiros is a poet from El Paso TX. He is the author of the poetry collection The Heart Of An Animal. Work has appeared in publications such as Word Riot, Stirring, Former People, Milk, and elsewhere.
