He sees behind him
His life - spread like a beauty,
Inching away into night,
Into birth, into crying and lust.
He slowly turns his head,
Shifts time with a nod,
And he is in Manhattan, two thousand seven,
Falling, falling.
And falling, he lands,
Into beautiful Dresden, forty-four.
The sky alive with light,
The living light of wondrous disaster,
And with a trick in time it reverses,
War-child sucks fire from the night,
Lifts guilt backwards
Into planes’ waiting bellies.
And falling, he lands,
America. Beautiful Motherlove –
Delicately, beautifully disassembles
The toys of war.
And sucking through time
He is laughing—in Tralfamadore,
Lounging naked,
Waking to fall in Manhattan,
Tasting the end of the show,
The sad failing, the pretty un-war
Of a snowy city of fire being cleansed to liquid.
He sees it all, his mother clucking,
Poking at his baby belly,
His Manhattan dying. And with a final nod,
He summons the words. A thousand of days
Seem to fade. Beautiful Dresden, forty-four.
As his life spreads like a beauty, he whispers,
“So it goes,” and laughing, he leaves,
inching away into night.

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