EIDOLON
She plays
It is a murmuring harp of Winds
which fading slightly laid
in the Morning's sun slightly
as the dew, like leaves the after-thoughts,
those swaggering innocents,
the brutal objects of the mockery of Time
rescinds the solitary tears
of much too much early eaves
She plays
Anonymous nods amongst the retiring
stones of the soul
hobbled in the dishevelling
winds the exhumed affront
the warps of Summer
exchanging whistling across words
the increasing warmth doubling
as the crumbling cool, killing
as quickly as funning in the sodden dull
like some clowning poised upon Th'Max
like some expected appointment of man's
Aim poorly soared
Pride fiercely poured
the green carved a great ground
and the grass sweats
th'cool of Evening
She plays
failure as nimble
success' thimble full
a symbol wove above love's
intermingled conflicts: the daredevils
morsels of surmise
The Sun causes the stars to haste off
for their dark distant bowers
at Day searching for some clear echo
of that loveliest Yesteryear
She plays
quilts & dinghies upon the boisterous blue
a cycle of extended days reclining
upon the columns of turbulence
the tempestuous breezy green a soil of sorrows
is some circumstance of Time
the tranquility unstilled
mercy like a mistake
& soul the interval
just room enough like a midnight
the overcoming storm uncontrollable
She plays
all th'unfamiliar syllables of The Same
sulking a reverence the fresh waves
breaking upon their desert, reverberating
Morning the milkman
The Must amongst the mansions of moonlight
whispering Woods & almonds the familiar
mourning the unsummoned through the tunnel of Hope
Captive's the golden Heavens' hair
in twisting flowers sleeping & so
silent there fading before the warmth
rising (for Cold keeps Life
and Warmth murders it with such an animate Knife
with its intricate greatness
tapdancing under the beams of th'evermore
ever-after sky colors like colonnades
She plays
fears like so many aphids
the young like the ages' janitors
dazed by The Dark in the tranquility of lacking
listening how they march
closer & closer the regiments of reason
losing to the enduring Unconcern
& passions like the blood of pains
pains like the blood of passions
in th'uncurious cold
She plays
unmistakable her
in th'unnameable main her Song
and Song her song,
although it will never yet again return
Once Sung,
ghost garnished, it would murder
with cruelty,
were it not to burn