Tuesday, May 22, 2012


Be not amazed by beauty flashing,
By skeletal hands soothing a fever,
The arthritic fingers of weavers
Of tapestries. Lovers, curled together
Before the marriage vow is fashioned,
Are not amazed. The splendid whip
Of the moon is theirs, & their
Many imperfections are digested in air
That feeds them. Still, the most clever

Of musicians is driven to despair
When his oneness is not demolished
By a simple song. Lovers who wished
That they be one are wrenched apart
With brutal frankness, but dare
Not say how single & solitary
They become. Their separate cells
Flash upon their minds & swell
To music, until they stand astonished

& betrayed. Cleopatra knew it; chills
Slithered up & down her Grecian spine
Whenever she dare to puzzle on how fine
Her body was; or more recently, Marilyn
The actress, knew it, yet swallowed pills
To ease her pain. Beauty is not its own
Undoing; we undo it. By refusing to see
Its oneness, we undo it. Be
Not amazed by lovely flashings, by signs

Of fish or stars above the faintly
Damning praise of planets, by slanted
Light that arches into prayer. Hunted
By artists & lovers, momentary grandeur
Never dynamites the mind, but silently
Unnerves the world. Seasons are murdered
In the snowy wind, waterfalls run
Into clouds & collapse while we look on.
We love only what we take for granted.