EASTER 2018

 

Was it noble,

The bitter austerity of desire

 

Opposing

Viol to cello, rampant to redoubled

 

Free animals,

Phaedrus a litter of souls coupled

 

Eternally?

There was a hillside farm, a steep one. I saw it.

 

It was slow to

Perish, floating in a mist of white bees.

 

Then later,

My face became strange to me.

 

The world also.

Charioteer of wounds and bleeding,

 

What herbs might help

My dead beneath the bright wheels of thousands

 

Of you? Wild thyme

Was a man once. The upshot and noon inclined

 

To apogee,

The higher still as early Magdalene.