26.
The warm dark is bearable when the eyes snap close
And the twin darknesses merge and cancel cancel out.
Beside me is the guide from deep under
And in cedar smell and sweat, a sweet chthonic finger
Sets its sight as sure as Virgil did, and down
Upon this half sung journey, the shell
Of all I was and all I'll be lies pinioned.
A rush is in and rush out, the sound
Of squealing metal rakes my nerves and bares
The tendons open for inspection. So long
The leafy screens have waved before my eyes
The wood is come to nest, a parried pintle
Twists just out of grasp, all false disguise
Is torn from both ear tabs; and open wide
The strait gate blasts its tenons and splits its lintel,
And chalk débris hangs ivorypearl white with acrid fumes:
The light of day burns through the quicklime motes
Rushing through this suite of fragrant rooms.
This structure folds me in, and up, and I
A flattened tube, a tuneless sad bassoon,
Go fetal in the effort to grow old.
