Stolen Elegy


Oh the end game of i

to have bounced from country to country

or danced among the silent letters of time

to have been part of Marseille, of Seoul, of Carlsbad

of Canada and of the Alps

to have returned at the time of tin terror

to this earthy, giving land

to Antigua, to Guatemala and to those places

where the Mayans met the Spanish and they mixed their blood,

to have sauntered through the mist and mystery of early morning Prague

to have survived this house of mirrors, this life

to have sought in vain, the always in the eyes of one woman

to have questioned old wisdom, new wisdom, this empty modern

to have seen things as they are

death, the clear morning, the forever sky and the tender blooms of spring

and to have seen the horror, the always deep end

except for that moment, the old lady in Kiev handing me a pen

a face that does not want you to forget it.

Oh the end game of i

perhaps no more, no less that u.


October, 2014

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