ARIA I: THE PREACHER

Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here,

At Idlewild, under the porch of the westbound ramp,

Our voices raised above the roar of the incoming jets,

To pray for the souls of stars, Hollywood actors

Cooper and Gable, Gary and Clark—they

Rode stallions though the mountains of our dreams;

And, across this silver screen, ride to a last sunset.

To them, American honors: the Stars and Stripes

Shall be their shroud; our anthem, dirge.

Almighty God, though we walk through the Valley

Of Almighty Death, such shadows we shall not see again:

Gable's gambler smile, taking a Chinaman's chance

With Shady Sal, draw poker, stud, and death;

Cooper's lank limbs' slow stride to set a town in order.

In this urn, their ashes, and something of our tears.

Americans, hear this protestant eulogy and benediction.

The Boeing 707, out there, straining to taxi

Across the runway strips, is ready for flight.

An hour from here, over lyrical plains in the West,

I shall scatter their dust with the dust of roses

And say, "I poet-priest, the right hand of God,

Bequeath these ashes, these roses, to the busted sod."

For I am The Preacher. out West I bless the town

When the Cowboy, wounded, and the sun go down.