These Hangman’s Hands

These Hangman’s Hands

Dwelling somewhere between clock hands,

he's lost to Grandfather’s summerlands;

warm breeze once whirled dandelion seeds

on carousels, bore them over misty mead

lay them heavy headed in beds to breathe.

But forgotten from here, chilled cobalt bays;

rocking waves settled, and fanned sprays

coagulated into thick midnight blue pools.

Dark tanned, throwing less shadows to rule

impressions of someone that was once you.

Museum piece mosaic, under ambered crystal

clocked off, iced slide-show slowed, then still.

In fragments, blank splinters of every soul

he claimed to be in every camera’s pinhole.

Boy frozen, flippers locked languid searching

above motionless purple venom spined urchin.

Father's fists in fury flew, but in basalt black

now held fast, closed doors on turning back.

A ship’s company bound for Antarctic ocean,

posed, monotone silhouettes of static motion.

Dun edged polaroid snaps of couples, framed,

turned eyes towards a future that never came,

loves’s loss, there, grasping daddy’s hand tight

as both nowhere strode towards falling light.

By grey mossed headstone she stands alone

unrepentant; Angel turns her back on home.

How heavy these hangman’s hands tighten

about his neck, seconds refuse to lighten

hours; dusks lengthen over graveyard chill

whispers; it is right that heartbreak can kill.

Beat. Be still no more. If it be true that all

the things they gave you add up to the fall,

then from beneath these gathered shrouds

strike serpent lightning to part thick clouds.

Awaken. If only in spite, if only in revenge,

if only in savage desire to unmake amends

now soft stretch fingers, soft flex wrists,

tense muscle, extend stiff stone cold fists.

Blink. Blank without the kiss of kind words,

this brave world, where pity is seldom heard

fits now, as heads fit into black cloth hoods,

busily hands build up pyres, wood on wood,

pendulum swinging, happy hour come at last,

careless as winds fan and kindle dried grass.

Blaze. Come fiery rage, come hell's fury:

wait no more on deliberating judge or jury.

Rise up. From summerlands forever parted,

sentence those who left us broken hearted.