The hidden trees, the lost lakes
Shrouded in perpetual snows;
Remotest peaks unseen by human eyes
Swathed in cirrus and cumulus
(The distant roar of
A thousand, thousand cataracts)
And as it rushes toward an infinite sea
Just its overflow is gift,
And am I not
The numberless humming chants
Of incense-wreathed priests
The shake of the sistrum, the breath of
The still-heard echo of those
Thousand, thousand years?
LAST NIGHT THE HORSES
Last night again I saw the horses
Outlined gray against a charcoal sky,
Their manes flying behind them,
Their hooves spark-stricken on black rocks.
When they slowed to drink
At a spring of shimmering water
Their sides heaved and glistened.
I can't say I caught them unawares.
From the corners of their eyes they saw me approach.
But the water was so cool and satisfying
That they drank, and drank, and drank.
Now they are refreshed, and I--
I ride close to them
Bent against the velocity
On a collision course with forever.
Though I have traveled away from,
My heart turns toward
There remains no name in my soul's lexicon
For this ache;
A hurting that is dulled only by
The constant mining of the
Riches of memory.
The baring of myself continues
And reproduces itself like mindless amoeba.
It cannot exist without
Its own confession of itself
To you, the object of all,
The point of my nakedness.
What I have traveled away from,
My heart turns toward;
I am breaking all the rules of
My childhood's dearly-held autonomy;
Giving you that which could not be
Bought or beaten from me before.
In anguish, I traveled away from.
Now, my heart turns toward
Your eyes, my mecca,
Your touch, my home.
You are the mellow-muted sounds
Of a deep-throated clarinet
In a resonant hall
My young-girl ears heard the melody
So long ago
I dared not believe in
The coming crescendo
Because the music was so distant
When I heard it again
I knew it
As if time had never passed:
You alone are the concert
That satisfies my soul