Aberthu: or Selfless
The one they called “of crag” reminds the mind,
albeit tortuous, to do a good turn daily, and to aid people–day or night.
In the tan uniform of our youth, we troopers used to also say, …
There have been many suns, flying from an eastern horizon to an abyss
beneath a western crust, since the basement recited what we are
to do for wine country and the celestial and azul maker, machina of a star,
beard his fruit to the people Dionysian.
We shed our tears for compatriots lost at sea, whaling for Venus
and a mantle-piece behind a picket fence.
We shed our tears in eulogy, brothers and sisters,
lost in the gape of a snake at the end of too many years, too many
summers, when thought comes cramming on several of sacrifice. .
We come out, as Jonas, in the temple too long,
and you can hear in our hymn, we’ve sung too long.
Craig, I know not what to do, but tell you what Frost told me and other poets,
“Take the alternate path without dirt turned, and be diverse.” Said solemnly.
April 20, 2015