It was in singing that he first Knew that worsening was not worst. His father's large disappointed face Tickled him inarticulate with terror 5 Until he forged, Below sharp time, Monster suns of images. Invented heaven has a charm: litter Of apostles, magenta trees that dissolve 10 As vapor, where golden sparrows sing And do not sink. He thought One wanted seeming, An altered Strangled attitude of bird. 15 A harsh man's countenance wavered In ocean distortions of the moon. The kneeling son felt a burning prayer At his back, and ran, and ran In stark fright 20 On broken bones Beneath a salt-dead tree.
From the collection "The Cabana at the Equator"
Written by Gregg Glory [Gregg G. Brown]
More information available on gregglory.com.