Through the full tunnels which conceive this world
I excavate all forms of my being
And return passive memories to thoughts hurled
Into depths of nothingness which our seeing
Rekindles in the similarity
Of our souls — stemming from the airy boughs,
Whence poets are hanging for clarity,
I rehearse rejoice in the strings of brows
Which rise as Dawn’s peached Sun and leak as yolks,
Spheres swelling and dripping with golden streams
Which gurgle past canals empty of Jokes
Beyond the artificial light which gleams
Within the bower of my child’s purpose,
Faked and coiling over the adult’s dress.
Patch-work and Thatch-work over Grace’s stumps —
A kingdom vibrating on all levels
Yet heard and seen only as vivid lumps,
Earthly mounds which appear by the Devil’s
Nest of liberty — \'each egg laid all hearts\' …
We are a composition of beauty,
A highest perfection of all the arts;
What expression has ordained it’s duty?
A Master-piece which masters it’s own piece!
An ever-moulding race which is striding
To itself in a contrived home of peace
Where we all remain and each abiding
By the Universal vision which ties
And strays bows in the re-kindling eyes.
Learn everything in reflecting mirrors,
Mirrors which reflect all there is to learn.