Last night the one million and first America died
But I refuse to mourn the birth of a million new Americas
However unforeseen, they are blossoming hopefully, at worst destroying all over
And over and over again, forever leaving, always arriving as the magma waves burning up and down
America
But isn’t that the way, isn’t it the past’s improvised vamp, abrupt eruptions
Organically responding. Shake off those lied-to ears, this is not a repudiation of lands won and now cooled, no
Not of all the five hundred thousandth and later Americas’ hard fought mountains, themselves solemnly hardened
The brave green equanimity of united peace and love, a truth unobjected
Uneroded
No, that is not the malleable question at hand here, oh head-shaking child, St. Anthony’s illness
I would not now believe that half my fellows harbour fire flung toward me
Brittle and satisfied in their voice’s echoes, too few of the seeming dead inquire from their crater’s nadir
As to their part, their fault, their grievous condescension, now ironic
All a'melting
The sun still shines through these plumes; your wonderful skin still blindingly breathes
The scattered flourishing of the engulfed ether is on, still on, let not doubt careen down this mount
Those who loved yesterday still love in the morning, the listless stroll on the edge as before
The silence of the ground has uttered simply, sprayed its scarlet bubbles, purifying molten
Fate - infallible
The stalwart heartbeat of my land still shutters, still heard clear, church bells in a crystal city
The leaves of Fall may come worshipping rampant, epileptic, inexorable and unconscious, cascading over it
But it is never wrong, the outcome, the force uncomprehended - apparently needed
It’s living course, a sacred way. Look into it. Even the fires of Rome led inevitably
nearer paradise
The unbelieving mourning, inconsolably ridiculous, futile, finally temporary
The humble winners are not to be found in Pangean cracks. Only the tableau dead of Pompeii mourn now
But I will not mourn in self the birth of one million new Americas. wiser than I will ever be by far is any new America
The displacements underneath laid these bricks, washed this silt, and fetched for the living the hard fought placard at the lady’s coal-charred feet
Still here abides
Forget with me the fragility of this new volcano god, climbing ever after exiled
To new worlds, crashing jaded into each other, turning dark and being consumed, incredible, monstrous, coarse, how it is
Their folly is fruit, death a holy trail behind us, the fiery gate to god’s kingdom
Draw closer to it’s already receding heat, and divide hereafter nothing. Sweat
Brave home of mine
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