°
to be delivered from the rational into the realm of pure song.
My face on fire, close to the points of a star,
A learned nimble
girl,
Not drearily bewitched,
But sweetly daft.
III
To try to become like God
Is far from becoming God.
0, but I seek and care!
I rock in my own dark,
Thinking, God has need of me.
The dead love the unborn.
Weeds turn toward the wind weed-skeletons.
How slowly all things alter.
Existence dares perpetuate a soul.
A wedge of heaven's light, autumnal song.
I hear a beat of birds, the plangent wings
That disappear into a waning moon;
The barest speech of light among the stones.
To what more vast permission have I come?
When I walk past a vat, water joggles.
I no longer cry for green in the midst of cinders,
Or dream of the dead, and their holes.
Mercy has many arms.
Instead of a devil with horns, I prefer a serpent with scales;
In temptation, I rarely seek counsel;
A prisoner of smells, I would rather eat than pray.
I'm released from the dreary dance of opposites.
The wind rocks with my wish; the rain shields me;
I live in light's extreme; I stretch in all directions;
Sometimes I think I'm several.
