We thought the idiot had another plan,
It wasn´t as if everything he´d ever done went wrong, or
Betrayed the noble efforts of his often grand labors;
The world, after all, he built in a week, or so he said.
Still, we waited a spell before finally
Contracting some of the work to a different
Stage-manager, one without the nasty
Ego issues, partialities for blood sacrifices, and trimmed penises.
My former allies thought me mad for trusting him again.
I thought madness the province of those who listened to him atop mountains,
And burning bushes rather than in
The fluffer hearts among people
Who simply wanted better for their kids.
Time would tell.
/When finally/ the dead fall/
/the thrush goes silent,/
/the deer no longer/
/through ancient brittle /underbrush,/
/when hummingbirds and hoot owls are/
/raven caws /silent/
/the beavers and bears, wolves and bees/
/frogs and crickets and elfin squirrels/
/all silent, too,/
/when the dead fall comes/
/the brush will not sound,/
/the dark quiet will/
/inspire no one,/
/no brook will babble,/
/nor lake swell and rise,/
/no stream will softly sing/
/nor waving tree sigh,/
/and pale gas fumes/
/horns and machines/
/and in the air/
/the returning traveler/
/will ease aching,/
/tightly fastened legs/
/to welcome the chance/
/before the ride home,/
/then faced with the dead fall/
/why it is the birds don´t sing…/
/and dead birds and beavers/ and/
/bees and wolves,/ fallen trees/
/and faded hummingbirds/
/will call from the /dimness/
/they now inhabit/
/and tell us/
/it wasn´t inevitable,/
/it was not meant to be/ at all,/
/this now and always/
/forever from now/
THE SECOND TELLING
At the second telling, we woke up,
Perhaps the whiskey settled deeper into the
Dinner soup and, after the initial nausea passed,
We were taken in by his magic.
Later, others would speak about the wounds or the sad eyes,
I thought the whole display cheesy, in fact;
I´m not sure we were noticed, beyond the rant
About “sinners” and “saints” as being, somehow, the same.
I couldn´t buy it.
Still, I saw in his blaze, the whole history
Of our sad people, searing us
With good news and a feeling
That history would be made here.
After the hangover, my life was changed, though
I´d forgotten the words.