BEFORE THE GREAT DEPARTURE

The trains are crossing the river, we stand outside the steam,

they howl with purpose

and, believe us, we try to listen by the bridges

of many bellowing heavens.

Sleep! Casey Jones makes it to London town, catch the echo

and switch off the countdown,

Cold waters pour onto lighted avenues.

Whisper!

The trees are falling with the mists.

Listen! Behind the mind's closed corridors,

The falling glow sweeps over the city

as many screens of interdimensional reality revolve into understanding

From within the crackling vision of the last explosion.

So the clouds sway open, so the hearts are radioactive,

they rock, rock, rock,

But our eyes will not open, myopic children borne into self-fulfilled

disaster

With the souls that passed this way before, before ...

And we may not anchor our desires in the old forest,

nor trust our seed to the lifting missile,

Searing through the first loneliness

toward the blues in endless retrospection.

The hunter and the wolves have met again,

and when we awake

To the sound of our pulsing fears, the Final Place

will spring into full circle,

The Great Departure begins to tick with energy -

and you have forgotten to weep and scan the spaces ...

The trains are crossing the river ...

believe us,

We try to listen, we try to wave goodbye.

RW, first draft, 1967, latest draft, 15.XII.92.

Copyright, Rory Winter 2013