H e a r t   S o n s   &   H e a r t   D a u g h t e r s   of   A l l e n   G i n s b e r g

N a p a l m   H e a l t h   S p a :   R e p o r t   2 0 1 4 :   A r c h i v e s   E d i t i o n






Lear By Lanterlight


                                    white moon now

                  thru the tent where

Poor Tom brings

                  his old father up to th’ extreme verge—


my companions asleep

                  far across the clearing, their

                                    logsawing complement to roaring

                                                      winds above the highest firs—


this a.m., their kayaks were

                  taken in raging cross-currents, yet one

dipped & feathered merely

                                    with a paddle tip, & found the center—


to float where the heart

                  slows, the ear tuned to

                                    the humming of that silence

                                                      none hears in the smug city


                  where blindness comes not from

cruelty, but the stealth of routine—

                  even such an eye-

                                    less man may need to see


                                                      his life’s a miracle, O moon

                  thru my tentflap now—



[Originally published in NHS 2001, http://www.poetspath.com/napalm/nhs01/cope.html.]