HOLST'S WHITMAN OVERTURE

Lighter than the sounds
of your voice, Walt
gentler than the soldier's face
in the Civil War
propped up for a last breath
rising from the pollen dust
of a warring brother's death
doing his rounds
on the salty marshes
in tones of thirsty love notes
your eyelashes flash
in shadows of cities singing
rivers, plains ,small towns
your manly kisses shine over
this child, a genocide survivor
who has initialed the notes
of "Leaves of Grass"
when no one is watching
over his wide tattooed arms
with the cheek of a young poet
reprieved by your outlawed words
on a thousand brass rings
though no one would know it.