Mosaic

I am who I am
Because of March third —
March the third gave me
Three men who made me:
The first man was born
Four years into the
Twentieth century:
Three — Three — Zero Three
Gave me my mother
And through her three gifts:
Two shoes to fill and
One void remaining

Second due March third
Eighty years later
But missed by three days,
Twice — Gave my mother
A boy with two names
Too many passions
Thirty-three attempts
To fill recesses
Echoes suggested:
A man should stand tall
As paternal dreams,
Guardian angel
Dimensions on earth.
Moved into a room
Shadows constructed
And made it his home —
Lined feldspar granite
Mausoleum walls
Closed out the moonlight
Bricked in the broken

Then March third plucked from Shatt al-‘Arab’s reddened reeds a Moses:
Moses goofy
Moses prankster
Moses spontaneous
Moses provocateur
Moses reluctant prophet
Moses who creates little signs and wonders, draws out reactions
Moses who laughs away shadows, dispels demons with smirking mischiefs
Moses who opens windows, giggles down granite cage walls
Moses who parts pestilence, rolls eyes when serpentine saboteurs gaze
Moses who cracks straight lines, curves crosses into peace signs
Moses who chisels code onto tablets, creates little worlds again and again
Moses whose flames are holy — with light, but not destruction
Moses whose staff makes magic
Moses whose touch frees fountains
Moses whose wounds unwind healing
Moses whose affection melts stone and metal and this heart
Moses whose palette bleeds abalone sunsets into buried urn ashes
Moses whose name is lighthouse
Moses whose covenant shimmers with broken pieces made beautiful

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