Alice, Sixteen, Smiles

Wider than her several suns—
at rest on clay rays, distracted,
than one and many-planed stars on drywall—
than her early aureole,
each Hendrix hair ironed,
impressed on captured paper,
is her smile.

Glass and leaded straining of its light
through sombre trees—a carousel on fired pots—
cannot dim it.
Alice smiles and favoured kingdoms
leave war’s raging discontent its broken streets,
join hands, beat drums, sing long
of this smile and those to come,
and all waters rush here,
leaving moons to their quiet dust,
and the light of suns everywhere is tributary
to its radiant celebration
this September day.

JMD: 06.09.96/ed. 06.09.2016