For Georg

Over Galicia,

Eagles crumple about the dark cloth

of your brow.

In the bloodstream:  winter’s white poem.


Constellations swarm to drugged nimbus above a weary God.


From the ash grove,

Night beckons the innocent.

With a siren voice,

Your unborn child delivers

an empty heaven’s terrible mirror.


A father walks with his young son

Where herds linger in blue and gold.

At evening, a heavy rain of cold stars.


Let the life drain from you —

Let the color run out from the violet hills —



In the remnant of ruined garden,

All has long been accomplished.