light horse (the first attempt)

there was a dream
that my son wore
gray and stood in
the cup of a field
all the sides sloshed
red with wine
and the smoke
stung his eyes, made
him sob and say

"it is the smoke making me weep"

while the men
who were the
sons and sons
of other men
assured the sea
that their bayonets
were of the best
salt, their feathers
plumed from
fighting cocks-

then there was that
dream he died
on a foreign island
that interred the college
ground, over which
murmured rumors
of the pregnant earth-

he was there interred,
from the far-off soil that
the heroes
commemorated from far off
his son
his smokey eyes
that were gray-

and from debtor's prison he lifted a pen. his hand hurt. he closed
his eyes and the prophets
painted angels
on a bedroom