my body, now so late that
the time of waiting itself looses
new pains in me, I hear
the sound of the bow-string.
Swift, swift, how again
and again that arrow reaches me
and fails to reach me!
*
How I long for the presence of your eyes,
for in your eyes gnostic revelations
come to me, Hermes
darkens and quickens my speech.
I will take up geometry again .
The mysteries of here and there, above and below,
now and then, demand new
figures of me. A serpent intuition
flickers its tongue upon the air.
Mine now the quickening of that
shifting definition I am swaying in whose
fascination suspended before striking
which now opens out radiant and singing petals from itself
so that I am lost in its apparition,
distracted in this looking into the time-sway.
I am like a snake rising up in the
mirage of the sun where
everything is swaying, to and fro,
noon visual dancing and,
beyond my hearing, in seeing lover-hear
the messengers of the sun buzzing, wingd.
I see and am held here in my seeing before striking
the honeyd glow of the woodwind dance
singing .
*
