Opening of the Mouth

Mary could adopt you, my friend
and then you'd regain your lustre,
viceroy in some province of heaven,
genuine fount of clear light.
But would she keep you from me?

She is not so jealous,
she leaves us her hares and bluebirds
and sends a prince to die each year.
Would that be you?
Husk of a cloud on quickened earth
until Magdalene anoints.

But you are always alert
to the other window on the cave of heaven
besides the sky, its mouth.
Your basket is full of its signs.
Your bona fides stand as straight as anyone's.

Every month spring tides overflow.
Vines and date palms fully ripened,
would feed you possibilities,
restore your bones like new antlers.

You would sleep roofless above the rain,
wake to help unseen children
lost in the forest where stars grow
bigger than revenge.

When your dawn comes, I will sing
like the birds that greet the morning
as you measure the moon-stairs,
remember:  I remain below, green with love
a shallot sprung through hard pavement.