05-09-2016, 03:54 PM
LA MAISON DIEU
I live as if
I were married,
then by some
stroke of the poet's hand,
I died --
a marriage born
of a thousand kine,
a consummation
interrupted,
then by the swift
stroke of Agamemnon's hand,
my limbs unstrung.
It is to see and to be silent,
to walk and act
in dreams
yet by every
stroke and judgement
to love passionately, unconditionally --
the dead-end job
becoming hell,
the impractical lover
becoming Calypso's hand,
rather, Penelope's jealous shadow,
the needlessly expensive
collection of 60s records
becoming the Sirens' song,
better yet, the Phaeacians' gift.
Is there a greater peace?
to live, in this tower,
an exile,
yet to be
perfectly one
with humanity --
I live as if
I were married,
then by some
stroke of the poet's hand,
I died --
a marriage born
of a thousand kine,
a consummation
interrupted,
then by the swift
stroke of Agamemnon's hand,
my limbs unstrung.
It is to see and to be silent,
to walk and act
in dreams
yet by every
stroke and judgement
to love passionately, unconditionally --
the dead-end job
becoming hell,
the impractical lover
becoming Calypso's hand,
rather, Penelope's jealous shadow,
the needlessly expensive
collection of 60s records
becoming the Sirens' song,
better yet, the Phaeacians' gift.
Is there a greater peace?
to live, in this tower,
an exile,
yet to be
perfectly one
with humanity --