POST SCRIPT

Gray and lonely as barren towns in early morning's rain
As the distance-muffled midnight cry from a coal carting train
As the televangelist's hotline to save you from the flood
As pollen dusted city streets wet with anonymous blood
As empty windows late at night in ghettos far from home
As the slippers on grandma's hands abandoned and alone
As my father's face goes pillow pale with the climbing of the moon
As the coffin empty of all but fear which found me far too soon
As the primal scream for help in a dream with words without sound
As dipping waste deep in black water--nothing lost if never found
As the sickly white observatory strains from Pisgah to discover
What chaste Diana's dark side tries so desperately to cover
And as the poet heavy with labor decides this case he tries
Whether it's nobler to let the poem live or to let it die.