Jagannath
looks over us
his white sun eyes
ablaze. He makes sure
no harm will come, he
scares off ill intent, we're
safe. I know at home
he would look out. There is some magic here
in Jagananth transported, turned around.
He looked out,
he looks in,
Jagananth
looking out and in; I sit
cheered in this home far from India
with its resident gods not worshipped but
recalled. I celebrate Yankee
Thanksgiving here
with turkey on the table and
Jagananth above. Hybrid vigor
and universal
white sun eyes. Apocalyptic
horses are not stopped in tracks; roughshod
they may gallop right across us where we sit
giving thanks, but
under these eyes we are safe from
panic and from
ourselves.
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