Thursday, July 08, 2010

Jefferson Requited In You

You too…… sprung of Lockean seed , ruddy freckled, as the “Red Head” from Virginia’s Little Mountain.
His words,
like dogwood blossomed truths,
borne on the winds of the Enlightenment.
in flurries,
still swirling round,
falling from your lips,
two centuries gone.

You, still grasping for proofs through time inalienable,
ever becoming self evident,
never lighting down, never resting.
You, languorously lay across his writing desk,
his waiting Martha,
his Sally, his Cosway,
catching the longing in his eye,
ever waiting…
You, his phantom sophist lover,
beckon his descendant dreams,
down the centuries,
his fallen horizons revived,
in his own time untenable.

And in his Little Mountain hollows searching,
in some illumined midnight hence,
his prodigal homunculus finds you instead,

and there loosed,
now swimming in a fillamentous swale,
motile in the labyrynthined brine, of your cerebrum.

How flawed to not have found you then?
in the sacred Declaration,
equally created.

Such for these divined endowments….
so lost on him… his time....
What, to have not seen you then ?
blind to these lamp lit flecks enlightened…
caught flittering in your iris,
in lambent slants of light, caressing your freckled neck,
your cheek,
glinting through your russet hair.

Of this we can forgive him… his humanity is ours.

Up from his writing desk,
always rife with dialogue, of head,
of heart,
of mind…. Then by moonlight, stealing under lilac perfumed shadows,
into his limbic tenements..

What irreconciled debts bequeathed to us, by deeds undone,
on the parchment left unworded,
he treads upon those dogwood blossomed truths, strewn across his grave....
But in you,
through you,
he finds his rudder lost,
His long sleeping Martha. and from his unrested slumber stirring, he turns into the gale that long has run before him.
With you,
his Sappho,
his Athene Nike,
You, his Helen.
He turns into the storm, and makes Virginia headland once again…
and there waiting on his sunlit lawn he finds you, and face to ruddy freckled face, you finally meet.

On his Little Mountain/ on even ground/ eye to freckled eye,

equally created.


Blogger Alex said...

Dave, very eloquent. I am impressed

10:22 PM  

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