David H.W. Grubb
Thunder Elegies
3 Memorials for Thomas Merton
1.
Who would in dense and ragged night
get up to write these wounded fictions
upon mind’s ice,
giving these stars, these ceremonies; a room
caught in skins of the moon;
the mercy with folded wings,
the wind with busted teeth,
the page as prophet.
2.
Appalled by truth’s etiquette
the old gods forge their dances
and the snowman becomes king for five days:
poetry plans its beautiful elegies
in sequenced ruins:
the conversations of ancient eyes
turn in on the territory
of the known mad.
3.
In Dharmsala, with the Dalai Lama, in a moment
of sun, you both looked like prizewinners; the
light
across your faces a private light; robes as
ritual:
do you dream in mosaics now,
or
has the thunder just begun?
Page(s) 21
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