Tuesday, August 3, 2010

When I Was Full of Years

I saw: The earth
is full of dance, and war, and night, and flame.
It is, it must, but do not cry
or throw your bones against the hill and dune.
You pick your dance and war and night and flame.

One's danced
up near the moon in sky
shadowed from the hard sun. The man
makes you feel
good. You are his only, and he will war
against your enemies with you. Together
you embrace the night and set the rest to flame,
burnt and burning in a passion for your name,
the world alight with fire conceived in you.

All bow, or join, or die to you.

There is another danced, however,
on the earth, played out against no shadow,
stark against the razor light of day. The man
makes you feel:
peace and fear together, grief
real and realer love, linked
like atoms in each water's bead.
He is your only, and you will war
against his enemies with him, cutting
the hand even of your right arm with his mouth's-sword.
He embraces your soul; it ignites;
all else flickers and fades in glory's Name.

I saw a thousand women,
an army continuously conceiving by men
like children with flaming eyes.
But out of a peasant's womb, a little spark
grew to consume them and kill for all and for once death.