Garland
my garland is the green willow
under her leaves and light brocade
i eschew the headache
of my greater loss
and in the patterning of her oval lit
i see the outline[routine] of your perfect eyes
and on her crack-twist bark
the circling down of tears
that roll fitful down my trailing nerves
and in the empty nest
the cracked egg of love broken
for tomorrows dust
and in the motion of the grateful slender limbs
you ride again gentle as a lilting beat
whose song to loveliness, a chord
sings 'sweet child of nature'
on oceans ship I glide the underworld
blown upon the free winds
like the feral mew of the hooded hawk at the bow
I stand at the helm with the truth seekers
as we voyage on for the end of all
dark angels wail and shiver upon the corrupt breath of man and woman
and the halitosis of those fad and fickle
in the broken fingers of tomorrow
even the bones of science will be displaced by a new god
relived, the many omens of the crook and flail
were as nonsense, and this runs like a foundless
rumour through the undercurrents that empower mankind
to drift from whim to whim
from isle to reef, reef to isle