NOW VOYAGER, A Poem In Four Parts, Part IV

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NOW VOYAGER,
A Poem In Four Parts,
Part IV



He vanishes. The dreamscape turns green.

And the color now before me matches the color,
The verdant, the summer green of those
Preserves of forest that stretch
For mile upon mile along the River Desplaines
The green that equals the color, the wood,
The forest which circles the cemetery stone,
The burial ground of the Chippewa Chief
Whose bravery saved the pale skins at Fort Dearborn.


The green is the color of the burial plot,
The Indian Burial Ground where I played in my youth.

And out from this world of green voices declare,

‘Go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly.

‘Time chases upon our heels,
Before long it quickens its pace to furious gallop.
All earthly store succumbs to this onslaught.
In a wisp, like the language of our monuments,
We cease, and we are remembered no more.’

And over and against this green
A spectral chorus appears,
And from amongst the ensemble,
A single ghost figure steps to the fore, and says,

‘I am here to repeat ancient wisdom,
What do we care what the joyless say?
They should get lost, all of them!
Once our tiny, brief light is pinched out,
There be no night, like that everlasting night,
When earth, it replaces heaven.

‘So let’s kiss, and let’s kiss again.
Let’s kiss a thousand times, and, then,
Let’s do it all over again, those kisses.

‘How many? How many? How many?
How many, you say?

‘Let’s not number our kisses.
There are people with evil eyes,
Workers of black magic,
Who would wish to bewitch us.

‘They should not know how many.’