Friday, June 22, 2012


for Lincoln

Earth heart
The prime consonant

Curled on my chest,
A bald pulse—

Your mother’s milk in the folds of your neck,
Your stomach as round as a cantaloupe.

Now your long skeleton,
Marrowed with kindness,
Carries the world—

Running through fog—

The Pacific you hear
As the mechanics of love,
Its green rumble
Always in need of repair.

But I haven’t forgotten
Your rosebud ear
Against my chest,
Your toothless yawning,
Your coal-black eyes,
Your urgent grip on my finger:

You are our settlement
Beside life’s lake, Lincoln—
Always fulfilling
The promise of home.

                                    — June 22, 2012

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