Frost

The snow-cloud
met the sea
like its brother in prayer;
held the banks,
washed march's rows:
daffodils, neat;
drowned those spring boughs

tracing white lines of glass
grandiose and symmetrical
papal and mortal
like the oils of the masters

and I can see
those bells booming in my brain
the fifty miles road
kicking along like a can
(just married)
the rough tongue of the highway
its heat at zero
and your powder sky

the patent shoe glam of a mercedes
and my brother
tailored and faithful and sealed
it's pink
it's plastic
and the dead will live again:
gods and planets
ancestors and promises
and that parade in the sunshine

and in my brain
the sea ends them
those halls end
gleaming white and unwritten
like his book
the story of what a brother says
to his brother

plans, in the morning
confessions, in the dark
and this thing so small:
I resemble you:
shrouded in linen
and dunked in ice
except in the sea of my story
i swim