Elegy for Kral Majales

Vernal Equinox
Blakean Spring
A joy’d sun to resurrect the Earth in greens
As we have traveled in acquiescence
with a bountied Heaven
given to moments on this Earth
But within the world, a more constrained breath
People afraid of weeping
Especially for the corpse
And your corpse is no different
              suspended in a stuffy, New York, cold water flat
              leaflets of ill poetry at your side by the sweat of your pen
                            lacking the talents of youth lost come middle age
              Rinpoche chanting in your ears
                            for your temples to vibrate

Gone, the eyes to dust
Gone, the celebrity to consequence
Gone, the voice to a new tabernacle

But in your life of repletion
              your words soaking into the land
                                                        like the blood of wars
Now, in death
              your face still lit
                            of human seraph
              though wearied from the journey
              as I am wearied from our brief journey

Oh Allen,
              the cock of Heaven is perverse for you