XIV

On Independence Day I took my leave, returning West
by train, half-drowned by my descent within the feminine.

If any myth had captured the face of Man Made Whole,
I figured Zeebie was the one who might have found it.

I was seeking the way of the scalpel, the healing blade,
a male way of being that would balance with the grail.

I needed to leap from crucible to flame, as Maker.
Attempt to absorb the old Zen Lunacy in some new way.

Too many times I'd been scorched by playing with the fire,
calling up my thunder with no target for the lightning.

Stepping off the platform, automatic snap back into streetwise,
city paranoia, hoping I had the strength to ride this horse.

The neighborhood I knew was gone, people on the Ave
either aimin' to intimidate, or comin' on scared.

In the interval since I had left, we both had changed.
He was harder, I was softer, neither yet less resilient.