THE HARMONY MINE
I
To choose the first of pages
has never been an easy choice,
rather hard on certain fingertips
as laughter begins a journey
upwards, seeking the breath
there where the ceiling is, a
light provides webbing and heat.
I love Auden, how he said,
well, you know what he said, right?
About Poetry?
What it can’t do?
Happening has always been my
direction, my belief, like being hopeful in some brief moment.
II
Imagine hearing Dylan Thomas
as he stared into the sink
Auden chose to include then,
that sink so loud, at that point
in the poem I bet Dylan loved
as Auden walked out one evening,
a lot of words recited when he
was a sad man, a time when we
all wanted to be with the poet
he no longer was able to be.
III
As Stipe from REM shares lyrics
he may have written, but I
hear an ending soon in them
and it is that harmony mine
which came earlier as I made
the move to leave what was a paycheque,
and how his songs were in my head
as the sun led me home, to be
back with who I really am.
IV
No more forklifts, loading things,
to please the cellphone in the hand of a man
who has to quickly load trucks,
who has spent time in Dublin
with all his sons and daughters
before that day, when all he did
meant it was time for me to leave.
See, Mr. Auden, Poetry really does make a lot happen,
even though poems promise nothing.
This sofa whispers their words
all the time I want to escape
those books, where they live,
I just want to be brand new again,
and all that takes is crows,
yes, crows, all of them,
out there everywhere, anywhere.