Elegy for a Poet

        

Before the final breath and night
swallowed the glow above the hill
and in the eye—

before the bloodsplash of light
pulsing with unborn and terrifying thoughts
was stilled in the gently falling hush
world to world of the quietest breath
and the last petal of a most beautiful flower fell
into the quick black stream of death—

fell down and forever from view
know this darkness that settled
this disappearing act forever playing out
within the world, this knife
around which the wound dried
was delivered by angels.

You were a splash of light
between two worlds
grooving, ransacking visions
till kingdom came
singing till you shattered
ravaged by innocence.

You were a dying man
hungry for the company
of rain soaked pines
a downed bird whose fierce eye
grew dim in the cage by the door.

Holy Mary, Mother of God—
. . . you were a curly-headed boy
      stealing to the lake for an evening swim.
Pray for us sinners—
. . . stealing back to the lake for an evening swim
      stealing back to lost summer.
Pray for us now, at the hour of our death—
. . . as I kiss your wax brow
      at the door that is always locked.


asha

          John T. Chance, in memoriam  - June 9, 1934 - February 1, 1992