71   Henry's Very Little Testament

"The morning sky was like     a robin's egg,
& winter sun     was burnished gold     & jovial..."
--my many-colored kodak zigzags here to
abridge this dicey coda     (sad confessional).

Your eyes     that mourn     for every buried man,
your arguments     that peirce authority,
with palmseed rays     begin     what you began
in palmy days--     the sceptred lie's decay.

O dearest dogwood,     sheepish sliver mine,
your subway token's trained     for Jubilee--
one handmaid's handmade     hobo trampoline
that [aggregated naughty admirals]     will never see.

To them--my iced cremains at Sutton Hoo. &
all my unremaindered hands--post-humorously--to you.

Henry Gould | Island Road 72
Contents | Mudlark No. 6