Rocks cleft and turned to dust reveal
cleft shells to be as stone; and cricket skulls
in powdered light give your quick, analytic mandate:
Un-think these things. Gun-roused at dusk
a cock'll bugle 'Kyrie.' Get the geometry of event.
When your lungs failed at war
my mother pulse of dividends revived.
Other theorems of Truth; of Beauty, other corollary!
As over water when a mill-sluice shuts
film ice twitches between inverted
tendril and frond, frond and tendril;
your rushing brain lay still.
Our bold-voluted immortality, fallen
is only rock
-though proud in ruin, piteous in pride-
Snow on a dome, blown by night wind.
More verses by John Brooks Wheelwright
- Come Over And Help Us (A Rhapsody)
- Paul And Virginia
- Seed Pods
- Fish Food (An Obituary To Hart Crane)