WINTER ' FOURTEEN
Hosannas for the new entrance. Laurel not palm. About me in the glittering (I will give new answers
to the old numbered questions spoken, and answered, by rote). For mine is the arrogant pride of a maker:
so be it so in the world; word, tone and undertone, semblance and shadow (how real now these shadows
as I cross them and how insubstantial as I cross out of them and leave them behind me).
Will there be a gathering?
Yes there will be a gathering
Will there be a reckoning?
Yes there will be a reckoning.
I will gather and I will reckon. Soft seepage and hard judgements – I the castigator! (yet a certain
form of love abides in my harsh words which those who listen to the undertone will hear the tones of).
But softly, softly now nor bitterness claim me nor dark light issue from my eyes. Like a tailor I’ll
thread my needle with a fine thread to make a rich brocade which some mason at his stone might be able
to measure. Measure my steps and they are equal to my needs. No more and no less. A completion in
themselves.
Yet if there is Alpha where is Omega?
Greek again, as all my dilemmas are. Unending, unending. Resolution for a time only, not for eternity
– or is time eternity’s undertone? Riddle me that my sweet believers and doubters. Or shall I say the
question is purely semantic?
Purely?
Purity of self and implication?
It matters, it matters not, or is the chapel perilous that must be entered. Grail of the word and world.
If I am well then all is well (I have asked the question and I have given the answer) so softly, softly, let no
black fire issue from my eye nor bitterness fill the emptiness of my purse – so with what shall I pay the
ferryman?
Amen, amen. Vivid on those lips I cannot see. Vivid pronouncement like a question asked of the
accused. Ask. Ask and answer. One question leading into another. Junctions and joinings.
River into river from the bright pebble emerging. Where if not for the lyrical impulse…
Ask and answer again. Question into answer into question again. Like in the old days. Discussions
on the rialto and agora. But the cup was handed to him and he drank – what cup will I drink to its
fullness of sweetness or bitterness?
Stance and precondition condition me. I am not other than what I will myself to be.
Meanwhile, on the agora… As if in that gathering something useful might be said and adhered to.
Like the condition of a new preamble. (I will begin, I am beginning) river into sea, sea to the rock’s
resistance.
Yes, I like that: resistance. If that is not what I am then what am I? riddle me that out of confusion.
But no confusion today.
Clarity of light. Clarity of thought all be they many and varied: I am a swirling eddy, I am a thicket
in which a stag is tangled –see the freeing of the stag. See him who sees himself as an Abraham unto a
people but there are no new lands for the old prophet and so pity the prophet with a broken crown.
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
Already he is a shadow disappearing behind me, going to where I’ve come from but without the same
starting point. Already he is a shade out of Dante’s rounds slipping back into his old condition. Already
The Linnet's Wings