A Siobhan Poem

To know justice in my name I grew out of the taste in the sand In a place film recommends As the wildest in the western world The ocean is a fear for those whose feelings fail To acknowledge the beginnings of fire in the soul But I watched white birds cover colors and crests While the mystic sense of the sea's, hovering creation, hurt then healed For my small hand seized thoughts attended by the wind, when reguarding purpose rather than a yearning distance Long before I was born to dance my way out of walking, even computers began to contrive my father as nomadic (Perhaps seeing with the same four seasons only desperate women and weak men was too painful under his sun) Yet I wanted a strong dad So I could kick his shins And poke his eyes out too (How smart is societys' voice, Like in a chant when living infinity isn't a choice) Sometime after speech made paragraphs, out of give, get, gallant, and gain;

I saw signs that to find and to mean, and to yield unity, survives lost at sea or about the personage of the stars, come to Earth's soil as deliberate human life. I did see life stay up to unchanging remains of passion And yes go down to the vast waters of individual tears I later understood indications that suggested my father might have for a moment been as smart as a dog in danger And when I saw other men guarding with their offspring, I noticed a family where power had not become a stranger Still he did not turn objective like a detective on television Or take seriously American cities fighting with sportsfigures As I would not listen attentively to religion dropping names For every word of it was dumb in daylight or darkness Put against what the deep mind can find in its dreams Finally talent determined a structure for being left half alone And apart from spells that spun his thoughts backward in action, at least my art would allow a father who had never been my home And if comprehending music is anything like embracing reason, then tuning loose strings as a start toward true sound, is like tying life's uncompromising facts into a story that works (Yet we will be more than the wisdom of certain birds, that recognize the motives of humans when they are watched) Simply with the birth that drives through the earth; the knowing of youth

And now may all sweet song gather my grasp on worldly wings Held by my mother's gift of the ancient Gaelic, given in quiet, to guide my temperment in my time Through what is creative in the history of my life Which first is to love Siobhan, and then to let her smile at her consequence.