by JAMES E. WARREN, JR.
STARE hard with these where you could never stare
With only eyes. Stare past the cloud that churns
And boils above you through the depths of air,
Turns from the sun, or in the sunlight burns.
Stare past its tumbling towers, past its tattered
And wind-snarled bannerets, and finally gain
To that strange place where all that ever mattered
Is sealed about you by blue porcelain.
(Forget that dark could crack it forever, that quiet
Would flow about you then as a river runs,
Orion rush always upon you through vast riot,
Forever dragging his sword of terrible suns,
That you would lie and stare into that sea
And watch the struggling planets flicker and drown
Where the tired Dippers, tilting gloomily,
Pour darkness, darkness, darkness, darkness down.)
Gaze closer now. Gaze only this side the hawk
That skims and soars and at the dusty yellow
Wings of the butterfly that clings to the stalk
Of the dry pale grass. The honeysuckle is mellow
In noonday heat and the noonday wind that cradles
The chanting of frogs and all the things you have liked
Since you were a boy: the pine trees’ glistening needles
Like Christmas tinsel silvery and spiked,
The gleaming of the dream-flung dragonflies,
And ants and their warm cities. . . . Ounwind
The web of dark and cold from the brain and the eyes.
Gaze closer and see your heart. The heart is kind.