Rx for Illusion
Annapolis National Cemetery
Spring, 2002
So many bivouacked here,
non-combatants now.
Their last tattoos have rinsed
the salty air. Padolsky,
Yonder, Unknown, Fleegle,
Unknown, Kelly, Wolfe.
Some wives—Kathleen, Helen, Pearl,
Edith, who “brightened their eyes.”
Even in drought, pre-dawn dew
beads the names incised
in stones that mark their exits.
No nonsense in this carving,
no curlicues or flowerettes
misrepresent the sober fact
of burial in wartime.
So many stone workers to pay
and markers to carve; no cash
or time for bas-relief or
metaphor to ease a mourner’s
grief toward illusion. Here
the dew, despite its shape, is not
a tear, nor are the gravestones
doors to peace, nor epitaphs,
brave consolations. Here
a starling glides onto a linden’s
drooping branch, beak clamped
on a worm a nest of beaks
has opened to receive.
Four Seasons and a Concession
In Memoriam: A Conversation with Sigitas Geda
Spring
Barley roots
Blossoming reed
What you mean of springtime
Is the she who blossoms
In you
White
Is the field whose bloom
Is spring’s
Year-round
The she
In whom I wake
In you
Summer
What ember
Kindles the white fire
Of ashberry?
What loden
Drives cypress
To darken bright water?
Twilight lengthens
In you when I flower
Mid-summer
And yes, winter shadow
In the snow
Of ashberry
Petaling a lean-to
Where you sleep
Drifter
Heap of bones
Sack of flesh
Sack of song
Your sigh
Deep blue of dream
Laments the noon to come—
Breakingly bright
You’d rather a glow worm
Under moss
To see by dimly
A spark
To warm a little bit
The slowed-down heart.
Autumn
Hold your breath
As pheasants call
Light swells between
Rising and ebb
Hold your breath
A pool
Silvered with anticipation
So much intended
In embrace
In breath held back
Lungs bellowed
Arced by air
Burnish of wing beat
Pheasants breaking cover
Their rush, all cry
Breath let go
Wide silence between beat
Before speech
Where moon rises
A pool
All light.
Winter
A fox tamed? Don’t
Make the mistake of thinking
I am that
Summer vixen
Fur a pretty tawny
Muzzle a healthy wet
Fox tamed to bitch
In heat
When sun drops
In your dreams, your visions
Shape me to your wish
Desire of a heart
Like Apollinaire’s
Made into artifact
By verse
But on this earth
Of root and rock
I play havoc
Where you fence in
My tooth-scarred ears
Pick up your every move
Patient for the instant
That burly red
Inside your chest
Will blaze the snow.
Concession
Let’s concede
What lies between us
Old pike
Of the Nemunas
In your belly
Nut and bolt
Of the built world
Seed and bulb
Of the wild
Sword snout
Mouth of tongue
And teeth tearing
Rising
Cannot dispel
Sorrow
Blue sky, blue
River , blue flower
Each bottoms out
In the other
And isn’t blue
A depth so chill
No Pluto
Would chose it?
Isn’t that our hue
Old pike?
Cold fire
Of our scales.
