(for Len)

A tell-tale animal, cleanshaved in dress scent
from a time when words like chips of stone
fell with a sound that told their content
walks the middle aged children of dissent.

Through anonymous crowds
aware of the thin hand of sentiment
through his fallen hair, he moves
telling tale
a repetition of broken limb and salvaged heart
echoing redemptive
for terror-ridden others
dressed to be distinctive
trained to dance
some outer circle from invisible selves.

Animal, told-tale in laughter
I will miss your passion
for ashes of brilliant crystal nights.
Among your treasures, a grandfather’s
birth certificate
remains the singular recognition
of healed divestature of skin and gland

the last receding image of a child
who was, is and departs
leaving you to hobble, later a crutch
carved from Tiny-Tim

later, legless
snaring at the mind
a flawless rhythm.

Sy Gresser, 1988