By the virtue that we are children & were more so
That young & exposed we were cunning enough to read
That the society of the matured & even our peers rejected us
That the chemicals were available the tradition existed
That we were barefoot & hairy & each quiet w/ rifles
That the continuous rush of adolescence is unquenchable
That all the myriad illusion can be burnt to feed the blossom
These things that I teach my sons.
By this nourishment may their sapience grow
That they may haunt the integral w/out need of mirrors
That they may lithe maneuver, unfettered by encroachment,
A fugue of river, earth, & will.
That they may pursue the Wood on their own tough feet
That they may endure the pipes & bodhran sounding in their veins
That by a watchful moon they keep the oaths they make
These things I guarantee my sons.
This from the father, from a brother hard drawn to make it possible,
From an unwavering voice that damns the machine. Â
Marcus If teaches poetry at the Beyond Academia Free Skool every second
Sunday at the Boulder Public Library, 2 p.m., always free.
