It was foretold
You, my son,
When in Summer
I ran, unconscious
Of anything, but moving…
When in the boil of my blood
Youth-rapt and entranced,
I stumbled through the torn night
Fevered by the street lamp glow
Train wrecked while sleeping…
That you would be a son
Was born in my bones
When in the ocean’s depths
I lay floating, alive,
In her deep currents…
And under she,
The star of her stillness,
She blessed me in time…
When you were born,
The laughing joke
You were a boy,
And now, trembling
Toward manhood,
Tender still, and strong,
You run, blood boiling
To who knows where..
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