RESURRECTION NIGHT
The subtle fingers of the dawn brushed my brow and my soul flowed back into the sluiceways of the old familiar world;
But long I laid in wonder staring at the wall, for in that night I had again become the Things I was before my birth.
And Terror and Guilt were old shapes of me.
BIRD OF THE NIGHT
THE CLEFT IN THE WALL
I travelled far with my pickaxe and spade and spied by chance a tiny cleft in Time’s granite wall—
I called it the NOW;
And through it I peeped like a boy through a knot-hole,
Peeped into the Infinite, a sea no bigger than a dewdrop, placid and waveless and spaceless.
(What Giant Shape lay therein, the opening and shutting of whose eyes gendered immeasureable cycles?)
I passed through the cleft of the NOW with infinite labor, and dispersed body and soul,
And cities and women and autumnal skies drift past my sight and leave me untouched.
THE TRUANT
In the immobile immensities, where renascence and decay and the plexed dream called Life were still unsensed—
Before I aggregated,
Before I anealed into an I,
Before the first stratum of lust was laid,
Before the dispart from the ALL—
In the immobile immensities something was ordered of me;
I was sent on an errand!
Hey ho! I have dallied with mortals too long,
Yet I dare not return without the thing done.
Or was it—No! No! too horrible!