1390

These held their Wick above the West—
Till when the Red declined—
Or how the Amber aided it—
Defied to be defined—

Then waned without disparagement
In a dissembling Hue
That would not let the Eye decide
Did it abide or no—

The lightning spun your garment for the night
   Of silver filaments with fire shot thru,
   A broidery of lamps that lit for you
The steadfast splendor of enduring light.
The moon drifts dimly in the heaven’s height,
   Watching with wonder how the earth she knew
   That lay so long wrapped deep in dark and dew,
Should wear upon her breast a star so white.
The festivals of Babylon were dark
   With flaring flambeaux that the wind blew down;
The Saturnalia were a wild boy’s lark
   With rain-quenched torches dripping thru the town—
But you have found a god and filched from him
A fire that neither wind nor rain can dim.

Her halo is brightest in the dark
Something about the way the gold
Just reflects the lingering rays
Of a turned off light bulb

She can see into your soul
And know if your worth saving
Before you see it in yourself
To find a better way

She doesn't help people who already have help
She doesn't contribute to lost causes
She goes where the support groups wont
Finds the people who don't know they need help

In a room full of bullet holes
This angel keeps out the rain
In an arm full of track marks
This saint lets out the pain

She doesn't ask for permission
Doesn't look for those looking for help
Says if they're looking
They'll find it within themselves

Somewhere deep inside of her
God saw fit to come back to Earth
Shes a messiah without a gospel
A prophet without an agenda

She's not running for office
She's running from cops
She's not asking for donations
She's begging for change

This angel of mercy
Only survives because of it
This harbinger of love
Lives without it

The invisible hand slapped her in the face
And she kissed the blisters it gave him
God asked her to build an ark
She said,  “No, I can't afford it, but I'll fill it if it's there”

Under the star light her halo glows bright under the Burnside bridge
Her voice is the silence between discharging of shells
Her lullaby's to the villagers sounds like opening empty wallets
Her tears fall like shooting stars letting you make a wish every time she feels your pain

V.B. Wigglesworth wakes at noon,
Washes, shaves and very soon
Is at the lab; he reads his mail,
Swings a tadpole by the tail,
Undoes his coat, removes his hat,

Dips a spider in a vat
Of alkaline, phones the press,
Tells them he is F.R.S.,
Subdivides six protocells,
Kills a rat by ringing bells,

Writes a treatise, edits two
Symposia on "Will man do?,"
Gives a lecture, audits three,
Has the ***** club in for tea,
Pensions off an ageing spore,

Cracks a test tube, takes some pure
Science and applies it, finds,
His hat, adjusts it, pulls the blinds,
Instructs the jellyfish to spawn,
And, by one o'clock, is gone.

1259

A Wind that rose
Though not a Leaf
In any Forest stirred
But with itself did cold engage
Beyond the Realm of Bird—
A Wind that woke a lone Delight
Like Separation’s Swell
Restored in Arctic Confidence
To the Invisible—

If you were only one inch tall, you'd ride a worm to school.
The teardrop of a crying ant would be your swimming pool.
A crumb of cake would be a feast
And last you seven days at least,
A flea would be a frightening beast
If you were one inch tall.

If you were only one inch tall, you'd walk beneath the door,
And it would take about a month to get down to the store.
A bit of fluff would be your bed,
You'd swing upon a spider's thread,
And wear a thimble on your head
If you were one inch tall.

You'd surf across the kitchen sink upon a stick of gum.
You couldn't hug your mama, you'd just have to hug her thumb.
You'd run from people's feet in fright,
To move a pen would take all night,
(This poem took fourteen years to write--
'Cause I'm just one inch tall).