It was a silent evening, I remember,
through the river's mist it comes to me—
a star pierced the air; white with speed
it leaped across the sky, slipped and fell;
I heard its cry, it echoed in the sea,
the swift wild cry of the scornful ember.
Alone I stood there, never had I need
of fellow rebel more, I, a rebel.
Down the dark beach I ran, I stripped; time
was an eyeless reach across immensity
and I plunged deeply. They blamed it on the tide,
the night; they had not seen infinity
like a vast unchanging vista wide
before me. If you go too far you'll drown,
they said. Ah no, only those grasp the sublime
who challenge the dream, before going down!
LANDSCAPE: WITH BREAD
Let us admit it is attractive
and represents something we think
we need: to live beautifully
and find goodness in it.
Everything points in that direction:
from beelines to star routes,
our dreams flower in the cells of night,
our days are joined to the sun.
Open or closed, our eyes possess
the world: all that appears
fulfills the desert gardens
and the glitter of gold. Yet,
whether we ever can reach
the source where image and reality
meet, or survive the force
of fire turning to ecstasy—
the immediate need we can not deny
is, simply, to exist...
meanwhile, perfecting the wish
for astral honey and blossoms of light.
