Above stood fire with wings
Watchers with covered eyes
Bodiless yet shame-shrouded
Sent fleet across the sky
Glory and the smell of lightning
And I, my mouth full of salt
Gazing on the polished stone
Of a silk-purple draped palace
Pleading at the threshold
No heed for the crystal sphere
Already emptied from pockets
Stomach starving from fear
The already delivered cry
“Lord have mercy on me!”
A sound not heard from hell
But a lonely heart’s mourning
Warmed by a breeze of breath
Becoming known in knowing
Commingled but never confused
Many by grace one, yet many
I am obsessed by that second stanza. I feel like I need to paint it on the wall or something.
M.
Yes, haunted by the entire poem, something of exquisite beauty, its delicacy masking its brute strength, and calling to mind the Greek of the second resurrectional troparion, “ti astrapí tis theotitos”, [Hades pierced] by the lightning flash of Divinity.
You both are such an encouragement; precious to me indeed.
This poem is very, very good.
It’s the last stanza that I like the best, with its images of love and communion.
David, I know I’m being annoying and commenting all over the place today, but I want to ask you in all sincerity if I could use the second stanza on my blog’s sidebar? I’ll attribute, of course!
M.
You’re not being annoying. Certainly you can use it; I’m honored by the request.