Devil’s Lake

Once, on stage, a boy became

My Father. I knelt before him

And he placed two fish bones

On my tongue. Rank, delicate

Little bones. Our blue skyline

Rustled. Two choirboys, each

On a white cloud, rode by me

Laughing & jerking overhead.

It was a beautiful age to learn

Pain. One could walk, sunsets,

In orange pastures, venting to

One's boring donkey. Gazing

So often into the black mouth

Of a well—one was forced to

Consider Death. Three priests

Started (stage left) to feed me

Lines. His body is home now.

His body is at home, I said &

Munched those little bones to

Sand. My Father stared down

Repulsed or stunned or afraid.

In rolled a backdrop of purple

Mountains. Then a single girl,

In a red tutu, spinning around

Like a small, overzealous fire.