Saul Become Paul
I am Saul become Paul
Son of Schmul become Sam
Son of sons.
We are lined
At the shores of pain
West Pennsylvania born and bred
Like him
What can we do but rejoice for his freedom
Lazarus son of immigrant parents
Vigorous, compact maror eaters
Used to the cold
And each virtuous breath you take of it.
Nicking the westward wind
Its tang of eastern oceans
Whispers of origins receding
Grown fainter with each turn of the ball.
Yet, sprayed out upon the New World’s sand
He rises, unquenched
Through oceans of air
Through chestnut groves
Down ancient tumbled slatebeds
Where new memories hewn from the hills
Are smelted in the valleys
Black smoke on blue sky
Cloudworks, bellowed breath to praise
Our metal heart running red
Sluiced, cooled, hammered on bare rocks
Become extended fingers
Lifted, gleaming in the sun
They bend at the horizon to encircle
Allegheny waters
Iron brown and mostly slow
They feed all
Who pass beyond the seven hills
Where we, while we, who still stand
Between stones, dig our toes into this temperate green carpet
We who still draw inspiration of cold, honest air
Pledge to return in praise
Of the sad, confusing beauty of transformation
Faithful of blessing
Hopeful of reunion
With all who ever art
Beyond the hills
But ever before us.
rmw © 2009 4/27/2009
At the shores of pain
West Pennsylvania born and bred
Like him
What can we do but rejoice for his freedom
Lazarus son of immigrant parents
Vigorous, compact maror eaters
Used to the cold
And each virtuous breath you take of it.
Nicking the westward wind
Its tang of eastern oceans
Whispers of origins receding
Grown fainter with each turn of the ball.
Yet, sprayed out upon the New World’s sand
He rises, unquenched
Through oceans of air
Through chestnut groves
Down ancient tumbled slatebeds
Where new memories hewn from the hills
Are smelted in the valleys
Black smoke on blue sky
Cloudworks, bellowed breath to praise
Our metal heart running red
Sluiced, cooled, hammered on bare rocks
Become extended fingers
Lifted, gleaming in the sun
They bend at the horizon to encircle
Allegheny waters
Iron brown and mostly slow
They feed all
Who pass beyond the seven hills
Where we, while we, who still stand
Between stones, dig our toes into this temperate green carpet
We who still draw inspiration of cold, honest air
Pledge to return in praise
Of the sad, confusing beauty of transformation
Faithful of blessing
Hopeful of reunion
With all who ever art
Beyond the hills
But ever before us.
rmw © 2009 4/27/2009
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