Halvard Solness, Poet

the zest of her on winter’s shortest day
is like an everlasting light, her blond hair
tossing her shoulders, the supple knack
of cheers she cartwheels every night,
my mind has  kissed them once or twice
in just a week she turns fourteen
God, i wish i were her daddy!

but that would mean a poet’s life–
cereal for breakfast,  canned whatnot
for supper with lots of abstract
nothings in between, lost in thought
or a thesaurus for empyreal words
that yet
fall short the beauty of empyria.

walmart for haute couture
walmart for haute cuisine
clunkers when she drives notwithstanding
she prefers the newest of  name brands
at every mall & store.

my hugs & kisses not enough
soon she’d spike her hair with green &…well…
i would not like that.
which is the point.

but there would be devotion & by that chain
what chain to break a heart
in high school with boys i do not like:
pierced, tattooed, “hey dude” democrats
smarmy “nice-to-meet-you-sir” republicans
driving suped up cars, or cars beyond their means,
with one philosophy in common
(despite the minor differences in style).

and so i leave her light a little tense—searching,
searching for a country that will work,
that keeps me in the loop of joy and youth,
cool with my suspenders,
the occasional use of a cane…

it’s enough to drive a man to Wordsworth
and so it did:

For as I feared is half-how it came to be
With more effrontery than thought
She married young, the most
I warned about—damn Jew!

They have their dreams and I, beard gray,
Putter the trails I used to run, for friend
The selfsame solitude that made her shine replete:
Prophetic hues of deep primeval green come spring
In bursts of bud and leaf, transport
To every age and infinite world:
That long circle of phylogeny I plod alone
Warm blooded, seized of beauty alone
Among numb cold blooded things,
Bound if not resigned to the deciduous bloom
As to my most deciduous moods in winter,
Walking with a cane.

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