The Galician Spade
       

As a barricaded teen,
in the war's brackish cauldron

of less than and more than, you buried
your wind-and-moon-blessed testimony—

With a way-showing map you've crafted
from unremitting memory,

near L'viv, I find the hoped-for,
ivy-laden wall, the upraised yew

of your immutable homeplace;
Father, I grip the unerring spade

to resurrect an adamant,
war-made seer who insisted

all the tears of his demeaned world
would flow into the heart of God.

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Copyright © 2012 Cyrus Cassells All rights reserved
from The Crossed-Out Swastika
Copper Canyon Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission