Elegy

I

This was supposed to be—

—this was supposed—

    —this—

And when I hear an echo

    Through but your voice—

When I hear you hear yourself

Through the words that we find together

    Across this poem, that poem, my

Line, your

Rhyme, your

Return of my words back and better than

When they left me—this was

Supposed to be—

II

A lone feather in the wind

Becomes

Like the last condor in a sky;

It becomes the soft flutter

And cry and echo

Of the shadow sky empire

Of condors now past—

The skies were once so full

Of distant majesty, of promise

But promise now somehow

—broken—

As though God himself gave up and

Took all his condors back, and went home.

III

This was supposed to be

My elegy for you.

This was supposed to be

About you, and us.

The future was supposed to be

About you, and an elegy for me

Written by your son.

The future was supposed

To be mourning the forgetting

Of me.

This was supposed to be an elegy about me,

Written by your son, ten or twenty

Years from now.

IV

This was supposed to be the poem

I would never write

—an elegy for my son—

Lord, I am not worthy—

Poems like feathers

Collected from the beach sands and

If you didn’t stitch the feathers

And left your son only wax, then

—I am sorry—

—I am sorry—

—I am—

This wasn’t supposed to have to be

My elegy for you.

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