Art

For Blair – William Tidwell

And before the barkers of the funeral parade could out me,
And before the swingers of axes, the counters to the nines,
And before the angels and their proud and haughty glances,
And before the devils and their habits, their nursed addictions,
And before the speakers to preamble, the ushers and filibusters,
I came to see her, and tell her of my knavery, how wretched I was,
And how all was nothing to me, or how it was more of the same.

And before the Sun could fall and mark end our little joy,
the excursions and abstentions,
the torments that gave birth to thought, and reason,
that drove us wearily on, squinting to a tablet,
whereupon inscribed our dates of birth and times of death,
and how it was I came to lose my vision
from strain to cones of my eyes, from reading finer truth,
and learned to smell my way through the dark to find her, alone,
whereupon I came to parley – or say nothing – and share in her body,
and call her my sister, and be alike her brother, and share in that
incestuous love ever-privileged to animals as selfish as we.