I believe that a young
Is standing in a circle of
In the other side of the sky.
In a little while I must carry her the
Which only fade here; and she will not
If my hands are not very full. ±Fiery antlers toss within the forests of
And ocean’s plaintive
Echo the tread of celestial feet.
O the beautiful eyes stare down…What have we done that we are blessèd?
What have we died that we hasten to God? ±And all the animals are asleep
In their separate caves.
Hairy bellies distended with their kill.
Culture blubbering in and
Like the breath of a stranded fish.
Crucifixion in wax.
The test-tube messiahs.
Immaculate fornication under the smoking
Of a dead world. I dig for my death in this thousand-watt dungheap. There isn’t even enough clean air.
To die in. O blood-bearded destroyer! In other times… (soundless barges float down the rivers of death) In another heart These crimes may not flower… What have we done that we are blessèd? What have we damned that we are blinded? ±Now, with my seven-holed head
On the air whence comes a fabulous
To take his place among the spheres—The air which is
And the mariner who is sheep—I
Upon myself like a bird over flames.
All my nightbound juices sing.
Pop out of unexpected places and the long light lances of waterbulls plunge into the green crotch of my native land.
Eyes peer out of the seaweed that gently
Above the towers and salt gates of a lost world. ±On the other side of the skyA young woman is
In a circle of lions—The young woman who is
And the lions which are death.
