Passage #34
1.
The wrong bus.
A brief detour.
Out of Innsbruck
our bus swiftly ascends
above the River Inn.
The gleaming Olympic ski jump
perches above the valley.
I feel vertigo
just looking at it.
Too much putting myself on the skier’s ramp.
2. 
In Igls an Alpine storm is rolling in
we’re a little off course in the forest
dead-ending.
After we retrace our steps
the storm breaks,
its clouds a painter’s dream.
The church outside our balcony
rings every quarter hour.
The bells tell the believer
You are not lost:
Come to the Lord.
Cowbells tinkle
and assure the farmers
of their whereabouts.
The cows don’t have to believe.
They know.
3.
We pass the home-made
outdoor shrines to the Joyful Mysteries.
Local piety on the way to Patscherkofelbahn.
With klieg lights
the Angel Gabriel enters, stage right.
“Do not be afraid.”
“Who are you?” mutters Mary.
“Where’s Joseph when I need him?”
The Angel communicates telepathically.
(Luke will fill in the details much later.)
“How can this be? I do not know man.”
“Let it be done to me
according to your word.”
She makes no special plea
Her voice is calm, not slurred.
4.
That saved us a 3,000 foot climb!
We’re above the clouds right now.
Under the wooden arch we join the Zirbenweg.
Stone-pine cones, gentian
yellow flowers, and white.
I look in vain for the star-shaped Edelweiss.
Somehow at a closed-up mountain cabin
we veer off track.
Wir wandern.
With a course correction
we follow the herd
in search of confection
Torte and coffee, our third.
5.
Continuous views on the Zirbenweg
rocky trail like Mohonk Preseve.
College kids from Innsbruck pass us in the opposite direction.
At trail’s end
the signs down disappear.
So we explore the ridge until we head away from our valley destination.
Wo ist Tufles? I ask two
green-clad men in their green Range Rover.
“Herunter.” pointing straight down the ski slope.
“Tufles ist gerade aus?” I ask
the biker laboring up the road.
“Ja, ja!”
Did you notice their purple flask?
Johannisbeer Geist is all the mode.
6.
We gape at the Goldenes Dachl.
Emperor Maximilian I had the 2,657 fire-gilded copper tiles
installed for his wedding to Blanca Maria Sforza of Milan.
They used the balcony to observes the masses
in their festivals and tournaments below.
Now it houses the alpine Convention
of 8 Alpine countries
committed to sustainable development
of the European Alps.
7.
Let’s go to the Zoo!
The funicular
takes our eager crew
to the popular
goats, who take their clue
as avuncular
pets
that engage blue
tourists, jocular
couples out to woo
each other. A singular
cemetery blew
me away– misplaced,
mossy and angular.
8.
Degrees of Lostness
are calibrated:
1. I’m lost and inconvenienced in a first-world kind of way.
2. I’m lost, but on my way to a What’s Next?
3. I’ve lost my mind
and need to find another.
4. I’m lost and gonna die
of cold in the snow.
of heat in the desert
of lightning on Mr. Washington
5. I’m lost and targeted
of being the only white man in Baltimore after O. J. acquittal
of being the only black man wearing a hoodie at the Retreat in Twin Lakes,
Sanford, Florida
6. I’m lost behind enemy lines.
7. I’ve lost my friend and am feeling lost myself.
9.
Who was Richard. Henry. Tooth?
Why is he buried alone?
A man taken in his youth,
addressed in a pious tone.
What painful end was the truth
behind his passing? His groan
muted, he eludes this sleuth.
Whence the charm of his stone?
Here Rest
By his own desire, the mortal remains
of
Richard. Henry. Tooth, Esq.
Who departed this life, Feb. 20, A. D. 1840
Age 23
Oh, EARL LOST: If now thine eyes can see
His heart, who rears this funeral stone to thee
There must all words, a sorrow thou wilt view.
Which Time may soften, but must deepen too!
Thine were the gifts, that round remembrance twine,
And Friendship finds no second love like thine.
Thy tortures, as the Flame to Martyrs given,–
Were the last touch that made thee meet for Heaven.
Too keenly yet thy Mourners must retrace
The suffering shortness of thy youthful face:
Still hear those accents, which, when Life’s last sleep
Was stealing o’er thee, prayed them not to weep:
Ah: not the less their tears are gushing now!–
Their only joy—these Relics are not thou–
And that thy voice still murmurs “Not in vain
Who trust in Christ shall hope to meet again.”
AMICO AMICUS C.W. TOWNSHEND
U. M. R.
(Ubi Memoria Requiescit
with whom this memory remains.)
