The Cracked Cup, Somewhat Shakespherical Poem by Warren Falcon

for Michael Malek
'where'ere he be, his love for 'the Bard' '


Could I but hold within in spite of crack
the strength of flavors, send vapors up
for sweet orders at once telling of earth, of loam, of comet;

In my form, though cracked, could I but
mold this world unfurling before me its
viscous flag, whirl it round, a jelling wind in love with sorrow;

Could I but borrow this shape though
marred and gather all morrows to me,
their bitter drafts drink down to make
merry marrow sink stars to knees
(Heaven's burning flashing mystery full) :

Could I but crack the Vault above, vanish, soiled,
to reappear, here, an apparition in insubstantial
hands, this cup, this man, this room, all one
and same but claiming separate faces;

Could all this be true I would hasten the Potter
to His shapening art, take this bell-kissed form
and, rift, singing, depart.