A WINTER'S READING

Feeding on the avante garde
an adolescent life
begins to pick itself up
in the public library
among missing persons
and parts of a small city
after fishing for red salmon
in Scandanavia
returning my book from the shelf
to read Soren Kierkegaard
a wise poet and philosopher
who once called himself
"a corrective"
trying to be a knight of faith
to live in a moment's discovery
surviving in a really selfish time
in his darkened middle age
discovering to be a letter writer
capable of a better love
one cannot taste or touch
yet has a closeness undercover
wanting to shout out to God
and Regina his bride and lover
riding over the wide streets
yet going home to a meal
of horseradish and beets
as if we are living alone
in a magician's dream world
of Bergman films
yet praying in familiar words
like Hamlet in Denmark
to catch his mouth on a wishbone,
seeing the ice cover the rink
in the dark marked alleys
choosing his silences wisely
wishing to think and pray
under a lamp stand
marking out a passage
his head hanging
in a humped position
thinking how to understand
wintry nightmares
going over town circles
in his snowy shoes
through spring wounds
at hours of summer walks,
watching Fall's country foliage
in a wish to serve in the light
with grace's permission
not turning into a loss of age
from our great physician's voice.