BOSTON: We Shall Be Here and Glad to See You

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BOSTON: We Shall Be Here and Glad to See You

You will be there my child, 
in your mask, lying on your bed 
in bandages and fresh air. 
Down that riverboat on the 
stars of time, in the ruling blackness, 
propelled by light from ancient buildings. 
The watchman with his bits and pieces 
assembled and shining on his wrist, 
gold and silver floating as if 
every second mattered, every moment 
containing its own warning, 

each bird note an order 
to "fly or be lost!" 
Every shredded wind of the storm 
and bit of ice falling from comet tail 
to earth where it will breed 
silken and sandpaper tongues, 
each one murmuring truth, lies, 
misunderstandings, flaming murderers. 

BOSTON: We Shall Be Here and Glad to See You

Your motherly guardians 
beside your stone wall fathers, 
bearing flowers, yellow petals, 
pink roses falling to the earth 
animated by original fires 
covering miles in lava 
as deep as mountains 
to be rubbed as smooth and slight 
as the skin on your face 
smiling to heaven, blessed 
by the glory of playing 
on a day when you are lost 
in the make believe that will become 
as real as the rest of the world. 

And from that, armies will march, 
fortunes will be compiled and lost, 
love affairs will lead to death and to generations. 
Things in your youngest dreams 
will haunt the present, driving you 
beyond despair into that place 
where miracles contain one foot 
following the other, another 
piece of fruit eaten slice by slice 
until its memory is as round 
as the earth we devour and hunger for, 
until there is no more 
light in our eyes or breath 
to part our lips to receive 
that immortal kiss.