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
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