October 5, 2007
If high priests could speak –
And then again, were snakes mute
The dreams of fire fizzled in sand,
The hard core of the universe,
Feet keeping time with wild half-smiles –

Creeping around dark corners, anon
The arcs of bare water, the arches of cold feet
And hard rock – harsh cries of batwing waves
Wrapped congenially about thin legs –

Plead for the icy sea to part
By man’s hands, his evolutions
Plunging back down to the barren sandbar!
Godhood! Unlamented, unenvied!

Men alternately come together, scatter
Bound by moments of exaltation
Hedged with long draughts of isolation.

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