THE RUNE OF THE NUDE

I will set my slim strong soul on this tree with no leaves upon it,

I will lift up my undressed dreams to the nude and ethical sky:

This bird has his feathers upon him: he shall not have even a sonnet:

Until he is stripped of his last pin-plume I will sing of my mate and I!

My ancestors rise from their graves to be shocked at my soul's wild climbing

(They were strong, they were righteous, my ancestors, but they always kept on their clothes)

My mate is the best of all mates alive: his voice is a raptured rhyming:

He chants "Come Down!" but it cannot come, either for him or those!

My ancestors pound from their ouija-board: my mate leaps in swift indignation:

I must tell the world of their wonders, but I must be strong and free—

Though all sires and all mates cry out in a runic incantation,

My soul shall be stripped and buttonless—it shall dwell in a naked tree!

[!-- H2 anchor --]

Aline Kilmer

(With a certain aloofness.)