2013/02/05

Poem; The Second Elegy

The Second Elegy
Every Angel is terror. And yet,
ah, knowing you, I shift you, almost deadly
birds of the soul. Where are the days of Tobias,
when one of the most beaming of you stood at the simple threshold,
disguised somewhat for the journey and already no longer awesome
(Like a y turn protrudeh, to the youth looking out curiously).
Let the Archangel now, the dangerous one, from behind the stars,
take a single step down and toward us: our own heart,
whipstitching on high would beat us down. What are you?
advance(prenominal) successes, Creations favourite ones,
mountain?chains, ridges reddened by dawns
of all origin pollen of flowering godhead,
junctions of light, corridors, stairs, thrones,
spaces of being, shields of bliss, tempests
of storm-filled, delighted feeling and, suddenly, solitary
mirrors: accumulation their own out-streamed beauty back into their faces again.
For we, when we feel, evaporate: oh, we
breathe ourselves out and away: from ember to ember,
yielding us fainter fragrance. Then soulfulness may say to us:
Yes, you are in my blood, the room, the terpsichore?time
is filling with you..... What use is that: they cannot hold us,
we vanish inside and nearly them. And those who are beautiful,
oh, who holds them back? Appearance, endlessly, stands up,
in their face, and goes by.

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Like dew from the morning grass,
what is ours rises from us, equal the heat
from a dish that is warmed. O smile: where? O upward gaze:
new, warm, vanishing wave of the heart ? :
oh, we are that. Does the cosmic space,
we displace into, taste of us then? Do the Angels
really that take back what is theirs, what has streamed out of them,
or is there sometimes, as if by an oversight, something
of our being, as well? Are we as mingled with their
features, as there is vagueness in the faces
of pregnant women? They do not consider it in the swirling
return to themselves. (How should they see it?)
Lovers, if they knew how, might utter
strange things in night air. Since it seems
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