The Cracked Cup, Somewhat Shakespherical
for Michael Malek
'where'ere he be, his love for 'the Bard' '
Could I but hold within in spite of crack
the strength of flavors, send vapors up
for sweet orders at once telling of earth, of loam, of comet;
In my form, though cracked, could I but
mold this world unfurling before me its
viscous flag, whirl it round, a jelling wind in love with sorrow;
Could I but borrow this shape though
marred and gather all morrows to me,
their bitter drafts drink down to make
merry marrow sink stars to knees,
Heaven's burning flashing mystery full;
could I but crack the Vault above, vanish, soiled,
to reappear, here, an apparition in insubstantial
hands, this cup, this man, this room, all one
and same but claiming separate faces;
Could all this be true I would hasten the Potter
to His shapening art, take this bell-kissed form
and, rift, singing, depart.
poem by Warren Falcon
Added by Poetry Lover
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