Friday, November 12, 2010

Midnight Stubble, Dreams of Grandfather

Born in the quicksilver
of living and deep earth
born to you
I come to learn
you’ve been up at night
visiting the dreams of
your blood

Once, seated as Buddha
in a woolen robe
you peeled an apple
and cast your love
so it wound tight around
the bone

Last night
I sat on your lap,
a child again
clamped tight in
bear-like arms,
you told me the
troubles of your
old-man heart

and now to wring out
words to say
your cheek was like
the firmament, tangible
beyond even a last touch,
I am lost in blood,
taking my first breaths
on the day of your birth.