Cento from Chelsea 81 (part 1)

These thirty years, revised, destroyed
pools, this island of Guernsey; we stand as
ancestral knots adrift. No remainder
in the glass you just gave me. It was all
what we mistake it to have been.
It is in this exact moment
years sing by. Father, do you recall the time
I broke my strings, spit my teeth
through the story, far off.
At my window, the cold trees opened
the deeds that shone through your sweat.
A lever to raise from ashes the
sounds of splashing water.
How is it that sunlight consoles?
The plan is to spend the light
that makes them bold, your bones,
the facts like bones & the photographs of bones.
A man's blind trunk without arms & legs is
hoary as frost now, your eyes all clouded
in that bickering land that once resounded,
that will not let you breathe. Farewell, my friend.