21 Apr Absalom, Absalom

Posted at 13:49h in Poems by

O Jacob clutching Joseph’s cloak of colors’ throng,
And David lifting voice, a-weeping Absalom,
And Jesus crowded near a tomb in Bethany
With injured spirit, subtle steps to destiny,

Aware of scoured heart for parceled words of death,
The sorried stroke of man to pay his final debt,
And sons who die before their fathers sire grief:
The cedar groans for branch, the branch laments the leaf:

The way of dusted breath beyond the flaming sword,
The place alone on evening walks a-goes the Lord;
But when the sons oblige a grave for fathers’ sleep
He burns the wick complete alight in winter’s sleet,

For sons regard with sober tears the fact he lives
A shadow-followed year his father wholly gives.
The greater sorrow, says the father, lies with me,
But what must sheep recall if shepherds f’rer flee?

A Friday Good in figure, Father rest in peace,
I fill thy plot with dirt and God and ribbon-wreaths.
The Earth untethers, shakes to solar shrieks and throes,
Dishearing what from lips could count the manful woes.

The smoke in Rome has lifted baleful mercy’s song,
I tread my eye to heaven, tasting what has gone:
An empty blue, a cloudless feast for Absalom.

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