Vermillion long before
and long before..
any of those invasions
like pain
or crashed windows
or lost hidden locked doors
from the steps of the diffused domestic clan..
which became my future memory
Listen:
she saw it all like through a train window
trained Catholic to be guilty in shame
beyond any proper tribal guilt and false
like gods of not-men; gain, loss pity
the envy of men to trees and smoke and beauty
when all she needed was a twenty-gage
or a hero like me-Da, with some Texaco-gas
to light flames of justice in the border-town
and the war-time foundations of clay
with no basements
and just let the blocks burn
to infinities. And the right kind of dreams
and metaphors
like a rough and tumble dog
to bite the thumb off of the scales
of some injustice
that had passed her on eventually
in proper form to heavens,
her birthplace of hope
and so add essence to the parish
and the saint of Guadeloupe
or maybe you and I like gods
could have been there to tie coteries to trees
or just hang them like curses
or take the kisses of betrayal to whom
and who knows where
and make weapons of separations
between the essences of fallen natures
and the gods who find comfort there
but mum and dad and the reality
of their both anxious desire
To make mustard seeds of faith
and turn mountains of desire like Vermillion fire
on their ***** into the nearby rivers and lakes
could have made new born beauty
of entire landscapes
and cancelled differences between earths
and skies to proper impressions
but so this is what really happened:
she got knocked down and down and finally
she cracked in perfect halves like love
like my eggs for long after and before
and wine became church, for the bluegrass
and dandelions that Dad missed at midnight
the only time he had leisure to prune
or those false impressions may have been lain down
like me and Mum on the same grass
in the backyard on Prado,
the place looking at the seasons
inside the stars and sky
and then holding hand in innocence
for her late learned lessons
and her saying philosophy to me
and the number pi-infinity
that when squared like perpetuity
will ??? separate
and my mass, later became my name
from the prophet and crazy blind love
like brail lines in sand’s particulates
available in the moment
created right there and then
from our substance
and like catechisms in tongues,
useless without someone to interpret
or love’s lessons come lately, too late in general
to cover anyone or any multitude of past,
and any and other’s sins
like love found, lost and acted to purpose
but the saint’s sins..
listen:
sometimes as through glass
the world darkens to focus, diffused passion
where light seems the enemy
like charity
and if outside
green from lawns
reflects blue to eyes
and to the free will of the beloved
WHEN THE LIGHT FORMS BEGAN
THE light WAS dim AND pleasant
And eyes were full of the essence sand
And comfortable
And all roads led home
the found way pleasant to the touch
found water, the water again
lovely from the great wonder
the wonder that formed the fireflies and wisdom
the fireflies are in formation again
and John died
dad. 1980
in my arms, like I said before
dangling like participles
to the end of his will
the information was remembered
i never had a mic, a deck a board
too bad,
to put the sweet music of him
to proper form
instead:
listen;
remember,
and if you can’t remember,
imagine.
memory is bone deep
likened to a dream forgotten
ok
I was already 21. All ready
to go back home. Josie
was not on the hood of the car
with Dad and me. She was
there for the funeral.
his will left that day
and saw the grand display
the fireflies.
I told you before, he loved Virginia
the mum who gets the high candle
the one who raised me by hand of will
synonymous with me
symmetrical to the doings that Dad did
that he lived, breathed in me
that was mum’s will too
one flesh remember, listen..
imagine
and you and I, if we listen with right ears
to what’s left
and Dad died
and made the fireflies be born
the setting:
me and dad sitting on the hood of his car
a cigarette dangling in the marsh
we were camping
smoking. Right to the end that one
and Dad told me that he had a pain
an ache that wouldn’t spend itself in age
and lie a death, to the obvious passions
dead long since any rage, and Virginia
my mum was a lot to look at
long
dark
like black and silk and
silver with light
upon a screen she was in me
and the dreams of men as boys
are always of pretty-mum, mine was mine
mine was Mum
I’m sure
when she worked
at Champion Spark Plug after the war
at her wits-end,
that when she visited the legion
and the live soldiers there
that many sons dreamed of her
beauty
attrition
wealth
want
and bundles of late formed dreams
from steel monsters
war ships on seas
Her face was like angels singing to angels
like the sound of the sight of a cherub
who watching the gates of the city
takes time to sigh
and absolve vows for five simple senses
like Vermillion long before..
Mum wasn’t there either. I
asked Dad like before.
I asked him, “Did you love her?”
He said, “Yes, I never stopped.”
the woman:
who stole his eyes at birth.
like from dreams of her.
(Dad did dream).
he was standing as near a new birth
ready to play some game there
in the larger ballpark near his yard
waiting for the rain to start
to delay the inning
and Virginia stood silent in his dream of her
his imaginings, want, and faith
too red faced to speak
little dimples sixteen to the day
and him thirteen in a cotton outfit
pinstripe, like the ‘yanks
and leather hand catching the ball
and the girl, standing five feet into the dream
and the whole game disappeared
and he loved The Epiphany of Her
and held her like proper-pride
his Virginia.
