Turning To Rose

Once, upon receiving that Peace
That only comes from ancient derivation,
My blood fist now swallows and surges
With salient throgs between my wind hollows,
While my mind writes about faith in timed quietness:
Like nature—like growing green things
That pulse with inalienable lights
In their own inexplainable way.
And while I rest in His sign-whispers,
And while His golgi workers
Surround and make their 12 fruits of life,
I behold my string theory of lattices
Chiggling and churning their small wiggle-waggles
As they build, diploid, and build again
The wanted structures that flip this soul
From earth manure to love;
Then when that Easter spring has fully sprung,
When I see the coming hordes of inaudible horses,
I will lift my head before all the powers of heaven
And present my rose to the Sun.

—Dumas fils, June 1972

As an educator no part of the Bible is of greater value than are its biographies. Conversely extended: for a biographee, what they are is what has been written (educated) into them; these inner-man things are what they will love writing about....

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