Fragment for Michael Burkard
Philip, Stephen, Larry: these are the names
of my fathers. Where is Michael?
He is off in the woods with himself
not being my father. Michael is a ghost,
Michael is unseen, and Michael
drags a fiery sword that unmakes
the world. Michael is un-is.
Michael, when I lost the words
I hated you. It’s in the poems, the ones
not found, not written: the unpoems
in the unbook, the names that tell the story,
and I wanted my name in the book,
St. Michael, if only as a way to show
with your fiery sword
a version of the world
where words
can rise from ash.
