There are Days, Broken Days*

557

Daedalus dreams of serpents
beneath a space without end
while he flies, kite-like, above and
the windows of his prison reflect an empty ocean
His father's foe
spreads the flags of freedom
and sends the devil into the open world
to turn the air to fire

Daedalus dreams of countries
where the hills rise in answer to the day
where uncertainty sleeps in the season of leaves
where tongues cry out to the spirit of the heart.

558

A monkey riding a horse
in the broken rain
brandishing a hat given
in luck to the wind
plastered with eyes and armor
watery in the airy drizzle
waiting for a sign

We take up sticks
and stand shirtless and proud
on the edge of the road home
hoping for a sight of the moon
while a dwarf with a torch
lights our way, leaping
into the night.


559

I stoop to pick up these broken prisms
the ones that shed their dancing light
into the righteous street
galloping out of the day
becoming nightly color
a soft green that hands me over
in honor to the noise
and cracking fingers of impatience.
Quickly, to quickly the private rod
becomes the beaten foot
I raise the window
to let in the stars.


560

Who'll turn the world
when we stand, headless,
in clouded hesitation?
Will it still twirl
while we are falling through
slatey space to
the drum beat of time?
How will we see
the changing of the light
when our eyes no longer go on dreaming?
Now, our motion is connection,
our earthly dance a waltz
in time to tables turning
in the poetry of boredom
a minuet of hats kicked into eternity.
Who'll wear the graceless age
when we are gone forever?
We will seize our stains
from the bent directors of meaning
when we walk along the edges
of these ever-steeper paths
nodding off to the music of history.


*June Tabor "Sudden Waves"