FIRST SNOW
It was a first snow falling on your birthday, Alex
38 years ago.
Cesca’s labor so slow
& painful, there in Miriam Obstetrics
under the klieg lights & the surgeons
she took the C-section
at last (proud, stubborn
mother) while the soft newborn
stars sloped across the parking lot
in silent counterpoint.
The time was out of joint –
your father, too. Every hamlet
screens its circular pilot plot
through every heart;
Henry left his hearth
to wander Cain-like into Camelot
(his Ars, his land of Nod).
The story is familiar.
Eros sparks war
for Adams unwilling to plow the meek sod,
buster. Adonis was a narcissist.
Henry plucked his Clover
(tuneful Faustian lover)
& spun the wheel no heel resists –
the veils of Isis & Osiris (masonry,
mummified fire).
Venus, Morning Star
shone pallidly, across the whole country
*
a kind of Cairo-Poe magnet (wherever
you are). Middle C
on the piano, tenderly
(Ravlin Princess, Ravel). Life-saver
played out to Juliet, by Hart.
Like Bach, young Alex –
one sea-tempest X
along path P (where all the tempers start).
Grief comes in waves. These little ripples
echo from the pangs
of Providence (where swings
a cosmic jewelry show). Dilated pupils
merge in swarms of busy drones
(watch-birds for smoke-
signals). Go for broke,
the Iago of the capital intones.
Unleash the dogs of war. They hated
me without a cause...
Faust is no Santa Claus;
the raging boar will not be sated
‘til the last woman on earth
flees with her child
into that desert wild
nursing one lonely human birth.
11.14.18
No comments:
Post a Comment