"this thread
mends what is divided
forms chains
all powerful, comforting
warm
all forms of gods
banning fear
opening ways
without beginning
and end"
LXI
O, mighty singer of eternal hymns
Your wiry hands gripping ropes
Hauling memories from wary water
You anchor infinite becoming
This bounteous boom of being
Waiting trees and silent dunes
We hear deep echoes
Itself changing into itself
And when you look behind
Stones turn time to dust
LXII
We know statues once did come alive
One loving, laughing scarlet queen
Her hair a splendid beehive
And all these people, her children
Her high profile sanctified by rites
She knew we were fighting fo her
Our deep forsaken need to know
Cooling these gales of grief
Each battle cry a hunted lion
Each chariot a changing cloud
"the frenzied dance began
with thundering drums
lightning
and alabaster bodies
polished to perfection
all came to life
we see how they breathe
dreaded unease
forever
in furious anger
just by tapping in
the amazing"
LXIII
‘The smallest movement, even of an eye’
Sweet solace flows from clouds
High above wheat like waving hair
Invisible larks hovering near castles
We supplant sleep and
Live out poppy dreams
Not burdened by omens
We rise and rise as hallowed fire
A sum of great secrets waits
As we hear serene sighing trees
LXIV
Gnarled wind bend trunks
Chasing doubt from wonder
Forging time in short-lived storms
Rattling our raging urge to reign
We see the way grey geese fly
Waldemar’s tired companions
Chasing barren aching needs
Swishing branches in the dark
We have heard so much about this
In the air, the woods, the forever sea
"look around you
running
from mountain lairs
hair streaming
wise eyes wild
look around you
look around you
smelling wet leaves
earth
to stamp your feet into
and dance this life
of joy and untarnished purity"
LXV
Incensed eyes, like Burne-Jones’ sorcerer
Enthralled to profound pleasure
Fill these smoldering days of queens
Beguiling us, sons of unbelievable elements
No god without offerings
A forming hand still steers
Singing crystals from dim rites
Our eyes filled with daily dawn
We mimic you as obedient clay
Each time you descend, we live a little
LXVI
Shy white limbs offering grip
Our sweet and noble guises
Beyond deep-set daily savagery
All binding us to our roots
For you, master scribe, we bow
You living god of lithe words
Inviting temple idols to our beds
Words stream like mercury
God knows we have been waiting
Unchanging ever changing
"lover of all
no one your equal
your divine eyes
see subtle
nymphs feeding
hummingbirds
revelling in deference
swift and lovely
compassionate
we believe"
LXVII
We groan under dire dirges
Imaginings of awestruck minds
All our own, as we fill our hearts
Roots more eroded than forgotten
Childish cries fill our inner courtyards
Nearly fifty daughters, dancers on waves
Weaving pure things into existence
We dream myriad sinless deeds
Kairos, please, angel of chance
Enrich our lives with perfect signs
LXVIII
Paths of buckthorn and prickly grasses
Unkempt holds, unleashing insight
This old landscape keeps to itself
Won and, no doubt, lost again
From afar night comes tiding in
We see water, and hear pines
See burning eyes of grey monks watching
Writing passing poems on broad sands
O Mnemosyne, lovely, vigilant mother
Make these words and blow our minds
"at the edge of the cliffs
dark emptiness lures
the tides
waxing and waning
to answer
this yearning
empty
timeless urge
giving birth
to being"
LXIX
And then, he spoke to us
‘My throne will lift you up’
Rejoicing in his time-forgotten niche
Chin up, a proud majestic look
We are spirals of dust in radiant light
Supported by eons of murmuring foliage
And good people with jubilant joys
Here, dead silent, his words sink in
‘I accept the praise of my children’
And we bask in ecstasy
LXX
Reveal our lives formed by needs
Wipe angst from behind our eyes
Guileless and eager we seek one word
Carved in this glorious emerald tablet
Our gaze meets those chiseled fonts
Some birch bark shedding oily skin
Or roses, adorning virgin bodies
Infuse us, lustrous, tireless guardian
Protect us against our diligent doing
And the impermanence of making