Gardner’s Lincoln
2008 December 4
A Forehead Made for God
There’s rhapsody
in a left eye
glancing Shakespeare’s heaven
where nothing will come of nothing
and rhythm
in chords of discord
lining crumpled paper-bag eyes,
cheeks – a forehead made for God.
Though his ears are blurred, it’s obvious
families of sparrows nested there
chirping nightly
psalms and daily halleluiahs.
The real music is on
his lower lip: violins and oboes
temper the blasting brass
behind gnashed teeth
determined of victory. In the end,
though, it’s the cheekbones’
insisting flesh thinning
to another vacant skeleton -
one whose peppered hair and beard
will soon outgrow the decaying face
of a nation’s propriety -
where hymns exult what’s born in blood.
