I have beheld it
Or grabbed it in passing
By the corner of the cloth
Of the thing, crying out
Son of David!

I feel it in my hand
my flesh tastes the
texture, the moisture,
the temperature.

It is there, hovering
Wordless lingering about
The places; the things!

How can I say such
But to say it is there
Not in the words so much
Or even now my thoughts

But the thing itself
Says nothing to me; and
Again it says nothing.

In the stones and sand
and dirt and skin and blood
and bone and wood
are more real.

And the mystery hovers
About that time, in the sounds
And the air, and the space

So I am there as in a vision
In my minds eye I see
The city streets and I know
As a man knows in a dream
That I am there at the end
The very moment before it
Where all of the strength
Of the world is crying out
And the air is too thick
And light and full of mystery
I cannot move, but moving
In my mind I find myself
drawing near, but each
street is empty, and the
places of her are poured out
to the very foundations
And there I am I know it
The axis of all things is
There turning, over and
About an eight-pointed rod
I feel I must grip the wood
until my fingers bleed
and there is a mingling
of my own tears and blood

And I feel then that I am
As much as brother of the
Dust and coal and diamonds

And I know in so many words
Of carbon, and the great sphere
Turning in the heavens
Through and round the stars

But I am no man of humility
Who can claim the title
'Adam', formed of clay.

No defense of greatness
No lowliness of heart
I cannot feign these for you
I am halted and held

Therefore I return to this
As water flowing to deeps
Dread and bright and still
The very moment before it
All of my senses cry out
It is here! And that cleft
rift, a moment, a time
a space wherein all things
Are being gathered.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Messages left under the doormat will be promptly decoded and a response may be issued.