Dec 132018


How many hands, vicissitudes,
Have worn this gold to the thin ghost
That gleams in the shopkeeper’s palm?
A millennium flickers, eludes
Us, is gone, as we bend engrossed
In blurred words and a surface charm.


Mismanaged love, at large, made vagrant,
Uncontained seeking the enormous land

Seen fleetingly, once manifest, now lost:
Seeking the defining rite, the service

That the heart could bend to – of rosary,
Or gun, or patient domesticity.


What is his life? the library,
  Worn books minutely scanned,
The evening and the single meal.
  He dreams of the vast land.

He sees behind the urtext loom
  The dedicated band
Who, barbarous, inhabit him:
  He dreams of the vast land.

A scholar’s indolence: the shelves
  Dissolve to endless sand;
Horizons touched, lost enmities:
  He dreams of the vast land.

His patience thins: minutiae:
  His predecessors planned
The complex text impeccably:
  He dreams of the vast land,

His solitary action there:
  O he can understand
His love’s futility: but look,
  He dreams of the vast land.

Sorry, the comment form is closed at this time.