Let us follow
The footsteps of this slaughtered age:
See it trail across Time’s dim land
Into the closed house of eternity
With the noise that dying has,
With the face that dead things wear–
nor ever say
We wanted more; we looked to find
An open door, an utter deed of love,
Transforming day’s evil darkness;
but We found extended hell and fog Upon the earth,
and within the head
A rotting bog of lean huge graves.
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We must be slow and delicate; return
remember this is not a shadow playof doves and geese but this is nowthe time to write it down, record the words—I mean we should have left some prideof youth and not forget the destiny of menwho say goodbye to the wives and homesthey’ve read about at breakfast in a restaurant:‘My love.’—without regret or bitternessobtain…
In the footsteps of the walking air
And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying.Night in his soft haste bumps on the shoulders of the abyssAnd a single drop of dark blood covers the earth.Now is the China of the spirit at walkingIn my reaches.A sable organ sounds in my gathered willAnd love’s inscrutable skeleton sings.My seeing moves under a vegetable shroudAnd…
The Dove walks with sticky feet
Its feathers smeared over with warmthLike honeyThat dips lazily down into the shadow …Anyone standing in that orchard.So filled with peace and sleep,Would hardly have noticed the hillNearbyWith its three strange wooden armsLifted above a throng of motionless people– Above the helmets of Pilate’s soldiersFlashing like silver teeth in the sun.
The sleds of the children
To the left, hazed in the tumbling air,A thousand lights smudgeWithin the branches of the old forest,Like colored moons in a well of milk.The sleds of the childrenMake no sound on the hard-packed snow.Their bright cries are not heardOn that strange hill.The youngest are wrappedIn cloth of gold, and their scarfsHave been dipped in blood.All…
when we were here together in a place we did not know, nor one
A bit of grass held between the teeth for a moment, bright hair on thewind.What we were we did not know, nor even the grass or the flame ofhair turning to ash on the wind.But they lied about that. From the beginning they lied. To the child,telling him that there was somewhere anger against him,…
A beast stands at my eye.
The old wombs rot and the new motherApproaches with the footsteps of a world.Who are the people of this unscaled heaven?What beckons?Whose blood hallows this grim land?What slithers along the watershed of my human sleep?The other side of knowing …Caress of unwaking delight … O startA sufficient love! O gently silent formsOf the last spaces.