49  (Coda)

High up in the cupola, afloat again

beginning     with the dark & wintry tomb

this clay-born sunburnt stage     put to the test

poured out in tears     to give the New Year room

there     in broken-hearted sailors' heaven

his broken sword     into your burning nest

 

As death     that spice     of bitter mirth

is over--ever born to set it right

puts out the sun     & leaves the field     all white

rustle a     russet     sigh

out of the mournful festering     of lying earth

I am     that cardinal goldfinch--apple of your eye

                      *

(I am the Lion     left out of your play.)

                                               11.29.96

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Henry Gould | Island Road 50
Contents | Mudlark No. 6