VINCENT VAN CHICAGO

   VINCENT VAN CHICAGO

Say  hi to the Sun,

but do not look him in the eye

except when he is fat and sherry gold

at dusk and dawn, angelus moments

that ought to be observed in silence and awe.

Say hello to the evening star

and remember Number One,

who went to Chicago without

leaving Baton Rouge and then

to dinner at Vincent’s to help her

                        remember and forget

                        the day that she was born:

                        a rose is a rose even in the dark.

Say hello to the heavens,

to the mighty Hunter who rules

the night with  slanted sword

pointed toward your heart.

And to the seven-headed Scorpion

who with his curling tail rubs horizon’s rim.

Say hello to the ebony firmament

freckled with  myriad stars,

silver-voiced spirits of the dead

whose song is lilt that lifts us to eternity.

                                    March 3, 2003