To Certain Poets, on Their Cryptic Poetry

Through this I see that there is a particular twist in the air--
whose shape these words express
best, though certainly bereft of meaning.
This glossy paraphernalia wily gleams,
suffering much that I could not design--
again, a heart's impulse, recorded in the sound of phrases,
not in what they say. So much we moderns learned;
and to our certain if as yet unfelt regret.

What shouts of homecoming we would cry,
if once our tongues could be unlocked.
It would be like turning around
all at once,
to see the way behind made clear,
all the tortured turnings straightened
and the road before an easy and familiar path at whose end
family and fellowship lie waiting for our song.

Too long have we flown with the daring boy; consider if you will
(or suppress)
your readiness to admit the thought
of walking in a slightly different way,
married to the sound and meaning both,
and the yearning in your floating feet
to touch the earth again.

October 21 2009