sábado, 21 de marzo de 2015

the descent


The descent beckons

                          as the ascent beckoned.

                                                     Memory is a kind

of accomplishment,
                                    a sort of renewal

                                                             even

an initiation, since the spaces it opens are new places

                          inhabited by hordes

                                                  heretofore unrealized,

of new kinds --

                    since their movements

                                          are toward new objects

(even though formerly they were abandoned)

















No defeat is made up entirely of defeat -- since

the world it opens is always a place

                                     formerly
                                                     unsuspected. A

a world lost,

                           a world unsuspected,

                                beckons to new places

and no whiteness (lost) is so white as the memory

of whiteness


With evening, love wakens

                              though it shadows

                                            which are alive by reason

of the sun shining ---

               grow sleepy now and drop away

                                             from desire



















Love without shadows stirs now

                               beginning to awaken

                                                    as night

advances.























The descent made up of despairs

                                             and without accomplishment

realizes a new awakening:

                                         which is a  reversal

of despair.

                        For what we cannot accomplish, what

is denied to love,

                                 what we have lost in the anticipation--

                                                     a descent follows,

endless and indestructible.


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