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Poems Hugh Fox |
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Kaddish Dying every night now, knocked out with all I can take, surprised when morning comes and the thunder-clouds are circling up from Illinois and Indiana, the pond in the backyard overflowing, the sound of rain beautifully insistent on the roof, never thinking in terms of large bites, cuts, slices of Time, but only today's rosebuds, the magnolia flowers already down, everything around me except the dead squirrels and rabbits on the roads, coming back into being again. |
Winter Solstice VII As if I have nothing at all to do with HERE, at least not most of HERE, my mind wandering around the ancient Andes, eating magic apples and adoring the sun as it fights crabs and horses, kills deer and fish as it makes its way across the sky to die and be born again, the center of the center of the center of the world, sun-in-the-middle-of-water, surrounded by the year-snakes coupling,, TI-A-NAKU/ TIA-WA-NAKU, here where He lived with the other gods, feeding on the apples of immortality, wishing I'd never seen so many mummies, autopsies, sat with so many of the dying until they died, stood by so many graves and dead temples, prayer-mounds, pyramids, seen so many ancient vases and swords, walls, everything whispering the same message of brevity swallowed in eternal immensity.  |
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