Whispers of Saigon

IIf my beating heart lies within my lifeI lull with but an empty cageWatching the passing of the winterLilacs bloom to bowls of porcelainAnd crack upon the snows first kissUs creatures of such perennial matterLost throughout the cruelest monthsResiding, the first of all the muttering songsWhen the open shutter sighs a brisk November windWith the scent of earth flaring the nostrilsThe decomposing flesh of AutumnTendrils of brown and yellow and redBlowing like newspapers across the streetThe wilted smile of Jack O LanternYellow toothed, lavished hair spotty and grayTo the bed of liliesAt the brick lain foot of the rowhomesWhere the ashen streets winds onTo crooked fingers that cup the skyGray, gloomy, morose canvasIts tawny bed asleepBelow the legions, trading blowsToting similar banners of greenThe seven pillarsHave heard the songs of AutumnAnd come on cool nights across the DelawareTo exhale a dying breath and sway the copper bridge

IIAnd where Augustus laid its headThe heaving breath of lying dogsLeft a dagger and noteAnd swept a life under a rugUpon the soles of corduroy rubberCarried the spine that walked uprightSauntered up to June and backAnd kissed beside July redlightsSwayed in sync with sultry gustsThe musts and do’s and fingertipsFull of promises and whimpersTo decipher fleshen lipsDecember wrought the sultry airTo ghosts upon the happy shoutsI thought it first your wild stareThe middleman and teasing mouthYou gave me first six years agoYour kiss, and then you wished to seeThe urgency of humid nightsCome back across Starnbergersee

IIII came here on backroads many months agoThe lonesome musketeer toting his quail tipped rapierWhen the bare trees gave no shelter, the verdure no reliefThe daffodils now grow brightly with the colors of OctoberIn the trenches where the ground was bare with frostThe river voided of noise, its instance only brokenBy the course caw of a gooseWho talked of the cold stabbing through his feathers

And now the goose has goneAnd the heron returnedIts white figure tentatively galloping through the shallowsWith the quiet lap of the waves against its underbrushThe child now sifts through silt and sandHe calls loudly to his motherAnd dances in the brisk chesapeakelike a log of driftwoodSwaying on the horizonBreeding, living, moving waterHome to manyIn you I have found lifeWhen comfort sheathed itself beneath snowy peaks

And now the wind blows, warm and tenderThe sour gust is gone, lost in the winter’s mantleThe walls of brush and lumberConcealing the heavens mirrorTo be free from any man that walks, I goWhere the hawk and sparrow dance in the skyThey give chase in ribbons of threeIn the direction of the wind

Tongue bulbous and bloatedSwollen and beaded with unspoken wordI was an invalid in those daysI knew nothing

Yet I find the yellow winged butterfly blending with the hemlockAnd beating its wings to the sway of his branchAnd along the alleyway of violet posiesAnd crashing greens of all shapes and shadesThey rest easy knowing the wind and the scent of lavender and honeyWill soothe them every summer

The bumble bee and dragonfly find their homeBristling back and forth among the earthen wingsAnd they touch with others of their kind, at peaceThey do not speak for they need not spoken wordOnly the spread of their wings and swift movementsBack and forth among the windBack and forth between slumber and a myriad of greenContent in their natural excellence, they find no strained lifeforce wrought out in mediocritySheathed in shade below the roaring oakIts streaks of light parade down like a crashing cymbalAs the call of the robin descends below the canopyEchoing wind and repeated passagesThe melodious symphony names the seasonThe deer radiates its ears, like a horned owlIt stares at me and I return its tentative watchThere will be no danger in my invasionBut it will leave none to fateMy reverence offers no solaceIt trots away peacefully, its cottontail erect in the breeze

The stolid oaks and maples look down upon meI am their ardent stripling, far wiser are theyThey encircle my trailThey tell me I am safe beneath their swaddling clothThe clubmoss showing no resign, it walksForward among the greater menIts brothers offer shelter for the meekWithout charge or debtThe feet of branches walk in silenceThe crimson ghost of the cardinal runs quickly across the floorFlirting effortlessly between two generationsIt soothingly haunts the forest

Beside the trail a single purple orchidI am beside him, growing effortlesslyBlooming in the passing glances of sunshineI walk onwards in isolation, leaving him to stand tallMy fathers and grandfathers surround me and pierce the skyThey call to me from above with broad endearingThey say great heights can be reached in timeFor they are sturdy on rough groundPressing their legs between rocks and boulders and phistic soilI stand beside them, linking armsWe grow as one

The river smacks its lips beside the shoreMurky, it holds its secretsAnd leaves much mystery to be explored

The beaver leaves the bones of his exploitsHe fashions a spears with his teeth and leaves his work to be admiredI walk towards the dead amongst the living soil

My verse flows free and brisk as the riverAnd shoots up tall among the treesMy friends are honest and humbly alive

May the fallen log cross the roaring streamMay the robins cry never cease to stifle combatMay the mossy scabs never cease to cloak the stone bridges and ancient trunks of mapleMay the sun meet the highest field of the canopy and be denied entranceAnd so the forest may preside over itself

Lockhearts, bending fingers gray and blackThe aging skin of each wise giantThe frothy bed of the bare breasted trailBury me in the amphibian day and cicidian nightWhere one breathes, tastes, hears the earthVines that hang below and clasp the soilSo I am tethered to the ceaseless warMay I run briskly like the streamAnd rest my weary head upon a bed of siltMay I float like a butterfly through the strings of light across the trailHow it glides along the bay like the schooner at first light!The sky rose and amber, its timber hull like sturdy jasper

The crow caws through its coarse throat to put an end to my burrowsAnd so I greet the blonde wheatgrass of mans endElderly hands hold my spirit in the distanceI will run steadfast and return to this place

The white tailed swallow hops away at first sightHe will take no chances with a man