S'taff

I wait for the song to finally reach your heart,
for the sun of my true fathers to shake you.
I am not patient, I eat knives at my gentle
table, I wake up several times a day
always alone.
I wait for the thunder to crack over your city
of damp shock, the lightning to surprise
your mirror, so you can see the face
that I see.
I wait for the blister of a world to go away
and leave us to our own rain,
our wind, our snow, our sea,
our faces drowning in the same glass
our teeth beating in the same
madness, our dreams
at rest with each other.
I can't reverse the clasp of my mind
or the sinking of my heart
or the skin's discouragement without you.
Call it an unearthly instrument
too clear to bear a name
among the prodigal namers. All we have learned
is to turn away.

1/14/1976