Recently, I have been to the middle of the earth, And it was very hot. But there was no one there To tell about it.
Sonnet for My Father
Through some divine repugnance of your own, You would not scatter easy, caught the wind, And blew back in my face. And was it love, Or insult? Who could tell? Your ashes made Small secret scratchings hidden in their box, Like teddy-bear insides when children’s hands Too full of love caress them into life And make them grind and crackle, like a flame.
Could I too press out life? I do not know. I only know I threw you to a stream. The child sows his father in the ground The crop of man plants his beginning seed Or scatters it to flourish as it may. This second choice was mine. You’ll find a sea.