With the light gait of young men
they once walked through this door.
It turned with the ease of all openings properly maintained,
oiled and polished,
countenance fluttering against it
like a jolly old reel of war movies.
The sea captain stood at the helm,
pronouncing the matrimony of virility and adventure.
young men full of procedures,
worlds to see,
certainties to fight
certainties to defend,
full of glory and propaganda,
hope in the wrong things,
love for the wrong things,
and faith in nothing but love and hope.
Barnacles have grown
over the door that once opened.
Bones, and flesh, and love and hope
have met fire.
Fish, and flesh, and second death
have met sea bottom silence.
All sinking things have been welcomed
to the black cold,
The wisened souls have quieted
to the chill of particulation.
Fishes nose about in the molecular impression
of lips once kissed by pretty young girls.
resigns to the loss of the
day-blind lesser sun,
resigns to the muted deeps.
Excavation cracks the door with fire.
A foot of sea earth tumbles heavily
rolls below blankets.
The seam is found,
Foul, stagnant space
Sunken terror rises from captivity
in a thousand tiny balls of air,
makes its way to the surface,
bursts and wails.
We die when youth is made for May sun,
and making love,
and growing old,
and summer peaches,
and gravel lanes."
The fire breaks
and the second cry for life
is worse than the first.
opened full to grief
Deep calls to deep.
Go softly here.
Go humbly there.
The third day cometh.