for my son
Several winter storms broke off
the southern point like a finger of ice,
though Lake Erie’s waves dredge up
the lakebed and resuspend a shoreline.
Last year there was a marsh fire
that burned to its reflection.
This year the reeds and cattails
are born of ash and water.
Didn’t our bird sightings migrate,
the book of native plants grow wild,
the binoculars sprout antlers
and gaze back into us like a forest.
Whenever we return to the park
distance folds time into waves,
like any transoceanic migration
that erases its own path– we are here.
The dead can look at the eclipse.
I stand with my back to the sun,
a shoebox viewer and pinhole
for the shadow play in miniature.
The moon crept across the sun
as though God were inserting
a nucleus into a cell, implanting
renewable energy in the solar engine.
My dead brother wept for the light,
while our loving mother,
radiant through darkness,
offered solace to her dead sons.
At the limits of lunar mass,
vultures lift off the sun’s rim
as though from the tree of life.
My son steals through the door like a thief.
I sit at my old desk listening to him leave.
My hand is about to write a line of poetry
That disappears before I can put it down.
The tree gave up its branches like wildfire.
It gave up its fruit like rain.
It did a last wind dance and collapsed,
Bird nests flying.
At that instant, I saw the tree hover,
Rooted just above the ground.
The insubstantial tree crashed down,
Thunder padding the empty sound.
Mass murderers elected to government
Born from masses of murderers
Birth monstrous millennials
From consumer consumers
Mass producing mass murder
Amorphous mobs of conformity
Metastasising myrmidon masses
Amass stockpiles of munitions
Mass communicate maelstrom
Teach humanities/preach masses
Sing the peace of mass murder
Warring for massive profits
Let us proclaim the mystery
Equal to one greater than all
Who knows the enemy
He is a shadow
He is familiar
He lives far away
He lives next door
He speaks in tongues
He crosses borders
He secures borders
He knows what you fear
He fears you
He faces you
He accepts conditions
He plots against you
He is hungry
He is sated
He is you
On the last day in my animal body
I find a hawk feather
Branches rattle like a war dance
Light streams down in sheets
Decolourizing the leaves
When I pick up the feather
It bursts into a blue flame
In a world of parallel stars