All male Quincys are now dead, excepting one.
John Wheelwright, “Gestures to the Dead”
1
Vast oblong space
dwindled to one solitary rock.
On
it I saw a heap of hay
impressed with the form
of a man.
Beleaguered Captain Stork
with his cane
on some quixotic skirmish.
Deserters arrived from Fort Necessity
All hope was gone.
Howe carrying a white flag of truce
went toward the water.
2
An Apostle in white
stood on a pavement of scarlet
Around him
stretched in deep sleep
lay the dark forms of warriors.
He was turned away
gazing on a wide waste.
His cry of alarm
astonished everyone.
3
A Council of War
in battle array
after some siege.
I ran to them
shouting as I ran
“Victory!”
Night closed in
weedy with flies.
The Moon slid
between moaning pines
and tangled vines.
4
Neutrals collected bones
or journeyed behind on foot
shouting at invisible doors
to open.
There were guards who approached
stealthy as linxes
Always fresh footprints in the forest
We closed a chasm
then trod the ground firm
I carried your name
like a huge shield.
5
Because dreams were oracles
agile as wild-cats
we leapt on a raft of ice.
Children began a wail of despair
we carried them on our shoulders.
A wave
thrust our raft of ice
against a northern shore.
An Indian trail
led through wood and thicket
Light broke on the forest
The hostile town
was close at hand.
We screamed our war-cry
and rushed in.
6
It was Him
Power of the Clouds
Judge of the Dead
The sheep on his right
The goats on his left
And all the angels.
But from the book
backward on their knees
crawled neolithic adventurers known only to themselves.
They blazed with artifice
no pin, or kernel, or grain too small to pick up.
A baby with a broken face lay on the leaves
Hannibal—a rough looking man
rushed by with a bundle of sticks.
“Ah, this is fortunate,” cried Forebear
and helped himself to me.
7
Clearly headless.
He bewitches his quarry
with ambiguous wounds
The wolf or poor ass
had only stolen straw.
O sullen Silence
Nail two sticks together
and tell resurrection stories.
8
There on the deck, child in her arms
was the girl I had been before
She waved
then threw her child to me
and jumped
But she missed the edge and swirled away.
I left you in a group of grownup children and went in search
wandered sandhills snowy nights
calling “Mother, Father”
A Dauphin sat down to dine on dust
alone in his field of wheat
One war-whoop toppled a State.
I thought we were in the right country
but the mountains were gone.
We saw five or six people coming toward us
who were savages.
Alhough my pen was leaky as a sieve
I scribbled “Arm, Arm!”
“Ear.” Barked the Moon.
We paddled with hands, planks, and a pencil
“Listen—The people surrender”
We were led ashore by Captain Snow
“I’ll meet you soon—” he said
and vanished in the fog.
9
We cooked trout and perch on forked sticks.
Fire crackled in the forest stillness
Fire forms stood out against the gloom
Ancient trunks with wens and deformities
Moss bearded ancients—and thin saplings
The strong, the weak, the old, the young—
Now and then some sleeper would get up
Warm her hands at the fire
and listen to the whisper of a leaf
or the footfall of an animal
I kept my gun-match burning when it rained—
10
Holding hands with my skin
I walked the wintry strand.
“Tickle yourself with my stroke”
ticked the wiseacre clock.
The river sang—
“Pelucid dark and deep my waters—
come and cross me alone.”
The final ruins ahead
revealed two figures timidly engraved on one another.
11
I built a house
that faced the east
I never ventured west
Eternity dawned.
Solitary watcher
of what rose
and set
I saw only
a Golgotha
of corpses.
12
Experience teaches
the savage revenge
an enemy always takes
on forerunners
who follow.
You were a little army
of unarmed children—
A newborn infant
sat in the hollow
of my pillow.
13
The house was a model of harmony.
Children coiled like hedgehogs
or lay on their backs.
A doll uttered mysterious oracles
“Put on the kettle.”
“Get up and go home.”
The clock was alive
I asked what it ate.
“A Cross large enough to crucify us all.”
and so on.
Blankets congealed
into icicles
We practiced
trips, falls, dives into snowdrifts.
With a snowshoe for a shovel
I opened the clock
and we searched for peace in its deep and private present.
Outside, the world swarmed with sorcerers.
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