Song for the Beloved
I remember leaves above my cradle in the April sun.
It took all these years to find again the simple door
inside the light. I don’t expect to be understood.
Like Moses we were entrusted to the current
at an early age. I hope sapphire coffers await
any friend I’ve ever disappointed.
A luthier cuts outside the line, working inward.
A scared armadillo can outrun a man. They’re drilling
in Alaska! I cried and the Buddha kept smiling.
Arjuna the Archer takes aim and answers,
“I see the eye of the bird.” And what color, my son,
are the feathers? I see only the eye of the bird.
Singing your name on my drive home I saw
a doe nosing stubble corn; when I stopped she flashed away.
The grass grows warm where she beds in the grove.
Oh, Thor, why weep at another failed poem?
The Teacher says there’s no way to describe the ocean –
only sighing waves, and this taste of salt.
A native to Minnesota, Thor Bacon works as a goldsmith in his adoptive home of Michigan, USA. His poems have appeared, or will, in St. Katherine Review, The Aurorean, Scintilla, International Times, and elsewhere. His chapbook Making the Shore is forthcoming from Red Dragonfly Press, April 2018.