ON THE PULSE OF MOURNING
By Edward Moran
With love to Maya Angelou and Ocean Vuong
12-13 June 2016
Feel for the pulse of America this mournful mourning
Feel for a pulse trumped and unsanguine, trumped and clotted in
the sackcloth of shed blood
Feel for our pulse, quickened for those who now have none.
They say a soldier will kiss a grenade before launching it into the mouth of the night
O ye wild men of Miami, ye whose lips have launched a thousand rounds,
Be wild for us all, and savage…kiss as if your lives depended on it, and ours
For they do, they do
St Lucie, patroness of the light,
Ora pro nobis.
St Lucie, let a hundred candles blaze in your crown
To warm the pulse of mourning.
What but this pulse is the sign of the heartland?
It must not be trumped by the darkness this unfine morning.
copyright 2016 by Edward Moran