1.29.2004

from Grassblade Light (ch. 2, "Letters to Elena"). written 5 yrs ago. the "star of free speech" : a leading Petersburg democrat & feminist, assassinated as she returned home from work.


         14



It's cold here, Elena. Almost like Minnesota.
It must be cold where you are too, and dark.
Where a star of free speech fell – look,
she breathes
... no more. At her own door.


Like More, or Marlowe, murdered for a candle.
Free mind, flown out the window, gone.
And now the sun is gliding down. In
honeycomb cubbyholes you bundle


up, bound tight around the spindle
of Aurora Borealis. And wound
upon wound, as mummy-cloths are wound
...
the spiral tunnels into Shakespeare's wonder-


brain... an unknown worm or summer soldier
wintering through night upon a polar sledge.
Against this tested light what need to rage
is only a promise. Only a promise. Dear


limping leg of the stony trail toward Lent,
dear crutch, dear rhyme-enfrosted heart!
At midnight we shall pilgrimage (start
now, in PJ's) toward the dark tent


of heaven. Yoked with uncertain
flutters planted there – each
crossroad underwritten – search
your own mosaic microcosm! Then


into the black stone of Jerusalem,
where blind eyes and seeing fingers
hear, feel the running waters – tumble,
froth – break forth – gush forth for them.



1.30.99

No comments: