yes, Ralph asked for a national poet
made to order and Walt was at his door
before the ink dried singing a new song—
a song of himself and all the others
Hart, you followed in lilac footsteps as
bard of american affirmation
but couldn’t abide an utter Wasteland
so you launched your circular canticles
against all the eliotic ennui
casting a wide net and even wider
bridge spanning both the past and the future
supporting both the grass and the machine
the bold task of a would-be redeemer
but it could not bear the weight of darkness
laughing twice as hard, drinking twice as much
despite some song of your soul declaring:
Imagination is beyond despair
you threw yourself on the bent foam and wave
a voyage that would never find its end
sailing out of port into cold waters
you broke your tower on sea skies azure
yet widening us even as you dip
your spindrift gaze spins us toward paradise
Rumi and the Shadow 