"O Absalom, my son."

To search to understand in vertigo

to run across a barren mind with a fading purple sky to your own opaque river separating

North from South; a divided kingdom.

Sobs sound across borders like the bellows of livestock that bleat longingly across a pasture.

They lament their own who crossed over the boundary. Those taken by kingship lust or crocodiles.

Those riding, captured, hung in trees, those devoured, put to pieces, leaving only red rivers behind.

Poetry on display at "My Son, My Son" The Senior Art Show of Sean David Dennis Kelsey Theater Gallery Gallery Reception Friday, March 14. 2008 8:15 p.m.

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