THE LONG ARCADE

Like the Children in the Book
Who walked that long arcade of glass
Towards their promise in pursuit of grief
Among the levitating tribes,

Like Pharaoh who himself pursued
By helpless grief, led to their grief
His people and their charioteers,

Like Moses in pursuit of God
Down choir-filled echoing alleyways
That led his mystery to its cul-de-sac,

Now Beowulf all salmon-pink
Through water tinted with the blood
Of Grendel down strange avenues
Pursues the mother in her garb of weeds.

TEARS ARE THE ONLY GENUINE RAIN
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