Elegy for Mr. Bones’s Son…
for John Berryman
A bridge cradles the Huffy man of Berry.
The white seeds of memory
behind his head-bone,
inside his cantaloupe,
are all his burdens.
He flies above juniper and willow trees.
Their tightly woven leaves
as flowers of broccoli appear to him.
Yet he’s a bird with broken wings;
hear the snap of twigs,
kissing with the limbs?
His placid body lies a broken jar,
his spirit evaporates from the zone,
his blood gone cold in the current
—- of the river,
his odyssey to understand Henry,
his ego to understand Florida,
his heart in the right place, at least,
—- bastard with a bitch of a mother.