Jan 142015
I held my child's hand down to the grave
And traced his comet's roaring going with my breath,
Sorrowing sorrow until the sea's moon gave
Its thousand salt prayers up in sprays
Scattering the brine-shrived gulls on the shingle
To spread stars aloft, and each a different way,
As the waves fell down from their mingle
And found a thousand moons in their crossways splash

And told my broken, washed heart hush.

O I was a dying moon in the ocean's rove
And with her million wants my wants still move,
To her breaking crescent I still squeak my eye
That dissolves in her fabulous crooks;
Locked frost-cursed in my own godawful life
I freeze grieving past midnight's strife, 
Until night on a moonstruck gravestone breaks
And harrowing dawn gives my soul a saint's look

And shines on all my wonderful lies like love.

Out of the four-ways Jordan of my heart
Out of the splendid cincture of my pricking ribs
Out of the mercury furnace in my brain
Out of my own dear hollow bailiwick rolling
I walk stalking my bones' marrow-trail
Scout brawling galaxies from my blind bloods
Ride my star-fashioning veins to black skies--
And, stepping the pulsing pathways of the stars,

I take my place among the meteors in the dark.

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