Window Pain

I

Tweedle-dee to tweedle-dum,
afraid to have a battle,
wish instead the crow had come,
To mend the broken rattle.
Humpty Dumpty to your Alice,
broken eggshells pave the ground.
Tired soldiers filled with malice,
retreat on horses without sound.
The trees sway in anxious silence.
The rain falls over the trance,
Tweedle-dee to Tweedle-dum,
wish instead the dove had come.

II

Cauldrons filled with joy and expectation,
evaporate as swift as steam.
Your screech is etched with scalding recollection;
your errant coo a sunbeam.
Is my smile a grace?
My voice a face?
My hope a place?

III

Spook, spook and speak of the reaper who left you for dead,
and the mortality coiled back into your head.
Pitter pat, pitter pat… never heard from where you lay
take me from the window pain - away.
Shut my ears from fingernails which scrape
the slippery tears which fill this well with shade.
Your swiss cheese brain is a holy God bless
your eyes of wonder, wholy emptiness.
Would you know me in the light?
Would you know me in the night?

IV

Perchance an embrace to warm your touch with mine.
To soothe your spastic quadriplegia with drugs and mine with wine?
We’ll fall into a sleep, into a magic kingdom,
where Julian hops through fog and notes a lovely hum.
A kingdom of dawn and twilight dew,
with ambrosia and nectar for you,
dripping enchanted spells
from ensorcelled wells.

V

There is a magic kingdom,
where brothers run as musketeers,
where laughter seeps through clouds of tears,
where sorrow has no dominion.

VI

In the twinkle of the early morning, through my window pane,
under a tilting peach tree bearing fruits from magic kingdom,
Julian stands and walks from his wheelchair, wanting pain.
While fleshy fruits of wonder make him step and hum.
Towards the dissipating fog, he stumbles then falls.
He lies into the dying mist, his bellow calls
crippled and happy,
pained in beauty,
strong and devoted,
wrong and retarded.
A son and brother,
friend and martyr,
grandson, student,
infant, patient,
cripple, monster,
hero, error,
with eyes aglow with
wanderlust and nothingness.

VII

Each day the reaper returns to check your microcephaly,
with a carpenter's rule for cerebral traps and palsy.
Afraid to be near you.
Afraid to be you.
Afraid for you.
Why, where, what and who?
A drool from a jewel.
A tool for a fool.
Relinquishing the martyr’s cape to saints who surround you.
The cockcrow brings the magic kingdom into view.
And all humanity joins in seeing through the bile
at your aching, loving, breathing, calming smile.
And when around I look I see a tree, a blade of grass,
a cloud, a sky so blue, a breeze, gently blowing past.
I feel the rhythms of those who love and those who hate.
And as for me, for love, I hope it’s not too late.

-Your dad, Laurent