I confess that at times I have sensed your presence
from behind the iris of eternity,
as you contemplate gleefully, implacably, like a muted Pan
the sacred union between shadow and light,
and not in starched hands that lift
a eucharist into the air;
rather in the faint wisp of winged DNA,
hanging in the air,
as a bird in silent flight,
before settling delicately on a stream ablaze in auroral light;
and not in the words of prophets sent by you,
false or otherwise,
but in the anguished cries of the raven
bouncing against ashen lunar skies
before descending into the black hole of perforated flesh.
In dreams I have wandered through labyrinths,
winding aimlessly beneath motionless seas of tears
only to be led to the vacant stare of a fish
lying lifeless across a barren stage;
stone-faced puppets staring into space,
their heads aglow in flashing neon
and arms extended miraculously by invisible twine;
and yet the lilies of the field beckon to me with their albuminous smile
and their promise of filial paradise,
dressed in their starched pristine tunics
and crystalline wings fluttering in the sun-drenched breeze;
atop the mountain the dark stallion of oblivion rises on its hind quarters
as it casts a shadow across the sky;
its silent rider tugs at the reigns with golden grips
that glisten against the beast's nocturnal mane.
Do I dare pose that great Telemachian question;
and if so in which valley of shadows do I begin my search for you?

© 2003 Salvatore Poeta

IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER
SALVATORE POETA

To Filippo
(1915-1996)

Poetry Start Page

Literature Start Page Home Page