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My
pop, the search for substance
severed you from the animated.
In a bombastic irony, your father’s
trolling ran him from you early.
His
father and his, backward,
came here for remarkability,
on trains, horses, mules, ships,
some dreaming golden,
this west and long, staggering
veins of vague, sandy gold like
a purpose to remember less,
it was so common to the heart.
They
lived in a toppling revery
atop collapsed, Earth-encrusted
mineshafts cracked in the ground
and blasted deep,
a powerful exchange of virginities.
Far
and fecund go their stretches
of hysterical minds, into now,
it was in you,
it is in me,
our dreamy sort of devastation.
Yours and mine spiral
as furtive moths
flit about the bulb,
while dreaming it golden,
a perfume building against cold
air, however deep it reaches.
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