LAST DAYS AT LINDENWOOD

Not many are the days
That we can call the last at LindenWood.
We count these burning days of July among their number.
Days whose heat shrinks the mind
And expands the body 'til
We seem ready to break forth into a new dimension:
No thought, Sensation rampant.

The generations commingle
And rehearse the Blood's passage through time:
Flight,battle,passion,sacrifice.

Our bodies prepare themselves
For this latest disintegration.
Imagination begins to sharpen
Memory's haphazard freight.

We shall build temples at every turn in the road,
To mark our passage,
Never guessing that
We, ourselves, are the gates of Heaven.


July 1986