Cancel my resurrection -- I don't want to unfold my wings and rise
Into Phaedrus' world of forms, not yet, nor join the migration of
Souls wheezing toward the fields beyond, not while my feet are
Planted in this mudbank and I'm waiting for light to fall though
The willows onto sandflats. My miseducation in this lake is
Unfinished. I need more trance time to write and hike these dunes.
As little eels of fog leave the water, I wonder who will measure
Their progression. The confessionals of cool air are open to
Hear from me, same for the nightward drift of stars I haven't
Memorized. I want to travel all my sub and unconscious strata,
Roller a few more holy walls, sit in my soul's basket seat in my
own skybox another 50 years. I have yet to walk the Via Dolorosa
On my knees or swim the lake country of northern Minnesota. I
Hear the curlews and whimbrels cross the open sky in waves and dot
The shore with imprecision. And what a jangled gaggle on mating
Day. This handful of silica, still warm from when the sun
Lavished its radiance about my legs, before it drew its gold
Net up from the ground and shadows flew out from the trees
And that train blew off some steam miles away, a moment ago,
This sand is all I have to show for this world. It's all I have to take
Away, the only goodbye I want to hear sift its fine grains. Or that
Single engine crow droning in all his empty blue. Or this dog
Rushing into the present to lick my salty paw. How I want to
Hang on to the left wing of this butterfly for all he and I are worth.
--M deO
