for once

a sky unfurls

above this dazed Eastland 

of Holy worship and steel meat trains

sky above

reflecting this Winter Ocean of our world,

ashes smoked down past

forgotten moments arising,

oozing Gershwin rhythms improvised

signaling another death below,

the constant nocturne of horns

everyone intimately recognizes

while trying to swallow hard once again

this sky above

emanating trails of rebirth colors

that mix together so well,

that become another impressionist portrait of Oneness

fully viewed straight ahead,

moving past clockwise symphonies of

life and death once again integrating

in this my Sister’s house of mourning

we sit for seven days

prophetically timed for loss,

mirrors covered

hard wooden benches grounded

now empty desperate hands washed clean,

and all of the assembled

fearful of flight,

that constant pull of ashen-pot graves now filled

and these Jersey trees standing tall

sentinels lifting this sky above,

uplifting these lost spent–up passions

deserted to hitch-hiker hat wearing women,

thses trees still moist from distant flesh parades

now budding full dispite imperfect losses

then let us pray for those drawnbirds

somehow escaping wingless from springtime ice valleys,

lost, startled, directionless,

nestless here in these city concrete forests below no sky above

and at sundown,

mournful bent heads that cannot rest,

cannot be buried

deep into the mud of this season,

where clean rains might wash our hands

rinse clear our eyes

these skies above will surely endure,

till those before us appear once more

divulging themselves 

revealing those who have expired 

until the next cycle of continuation

6/6/73

Elmwood Park, NJ