Where are you now, my coarse and beautiful kin?
I imagine you all, burning through dream like heath;
Felling the morn with chattering teeth
And scolding the night’s void with half-conscious grin.
I imagine you, father, stealed to Morlaix,
Grinding bottles in the hearth at storytime.
Mother, Slumbering cool, breezed, benign,
Calling skies on clocks to chauffeur all our days.
And my brothers, Are you all now adolescence?
Scald in happier muse of perfume,
Holding a woman, perhaps, and plod the tune.
Are your shut-eyes marked without my presence?
Here, a quasar erupt for a smidgen of all time.
I dream of you, my loves, and some foreign