Thunder In Mourning
Thunder mumbled all night,
thunder subdued, a cello played
by a sobbing storm,
or the beat of a drum: an elephant's steps
on the following walk, trunk to tail through
the wrong end of the kaleidoscope
up the curved wall and
down down again toward the moving
end.
As the stained-glass lights blind,
she shows me the way
she shows me the way
to balance my bulk
up on a ball, on one oak-like foot,
small eyes sunk and kind
too old for my mind.
She's a thing born for trust
despite what we've seen
from killers and users,
pale abusers who'll never hold
the blowing rose that drops away
the blowing rose that drops away
as they push close.
She knows
She knows
all our possum secrets,
our summer fades,
our summer fades,
how we murder our minutes
to buy our day.
She sways, a grey
She sways, a grey
forest that grows wild and wide;
she blocks the dead light
that increases night.
that increases night.
She'll let my feet slide
down the dodger's paradigm
towards the planet that struggles
to be a star, to the music
womb-warm but
played from so far. She bends
down her great head
to let me ride, for going there
down her great head
to let me ride, for going there
might take a fall, and all
that's left of our lives, drums in the rain,
footsteps patient--cello gone soft
thunder subdued,
thunder in mourning.
~April 2016
Images: Top: Warrior Mounted on an Elephant Overpowering a Cello, 1983, Salvador Dali
Fair use via wikiart.org
Bottom: author and source unknown No copyright infringement intended.
