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RESOLUTION

The twoyear Tarzan in his little grove
runs with panache of lizardly abandon
and too with recently acquired care
along the ivyoverhung sidepath,
leftswerving at the wood fourseater swing
across the upper lawn to his tenthouse
of rugs and blankets tapestried about
two iron garden chairs and dark withins.
  
Then in the coloured patio’s fountainbasin
he holds his infant hands aside to catch
the cool blue cyclechains of waterloops.
The liquid intermittent banyanbars
encingle plastered hair and shorts and shoes
and look of pauseforbreath in midendeavour,
discovery of his powers and their bourne
to capture the fractured day, its elements.
  
For rest deserved, his perch a tousled knoll,
he meditates, his eloquent childwide eyes
resting upon his brother dog and toys,
seeing in a long whiteness of nonseeing
the green without and memories within,
allowing the shaken world, preverbalised,
to settle, the plaid tenthouse and cool water
to be, and be in him, both sides achieved.
  

Alan Marshfield

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