Kissing Dynamite: the last of the five good emperors

May 27

for Pablo

this morning you rose

(as the morning before)

to a world that is not yet done.

what has happened has happened.

you are what you are—swaggering,

staggering, ancient stardust,

you-shaped lump of a boy,

a trillion cells assembled just so,

reshaped by every song (it seems)

these days and every sunset.

oh brother, you're braided

between these hours—

the light comes and goes again.

in the middle you breathe,

you break your own heart,

you mend, you murder a plant or two,

you spend, stutter & see from the summit

mountains falling toward the sea.

you say to me, little,

learn to live without knowing,

i say to you never and still,

what a strange lovely world,

like you, like me, undone and yet

we rise.

HAD: nobody knows what a horse look like.