Look, silver. Here's more.
Green Man gone to Gray
Man, as wickered day-
To-day bored and bore
Me here to backwater
Seamlessly. Seemlessly
I chose to dreamlessly
Arrive where no daughter-
Witch of Pharoah hushes
Me with liquid breasts
To lure me from my nests
Into a future. Dry rushes
Circle me again as then
With whispers of antique
Cycles - of no-times when sleek
Heroes downed surgeon
Sunrise, hags to virgins
Bloom, a moon per week.
Pagan is the soothing circle,
Matrilinear the round return.
To no known ground
The vector of my will will
Bear me. In my rationed time Can I be Sun once only?
Once, wild among choices, lonely
As my straight line, prime
As the aerial fool who never falters
In the gulf between trapezes, younger,
I rode herd on a hundred hungers,
Drove my goals to rich new altars.
Now, numbed by dumb security,
Drugged by dim delicious
Anesthetic of routine, my wishes
Doze. I splash the purity
Of archetypes upon my drying
Soul to wake me, but the scrying Glass, becalmed, drifts me to this destiny,
Here, to the Lost King's zone. At the rim of his Sudan,
Slumped and huge as Lincoln, ManGod golden on his golden throne
Confronting arid golden sands
He waits, unstirred, for something.
He won't be bidden. On gray wings
(While I keep faith and watch his hands)
The soft and whispering evenings flutter in
To nurse in litters on my veins.
So I call, before I lose all pain,
"Here, feel! Still warm! Though thin,
Still strong!" Before I close the store.
Now not dawn but sunset wakes us.
The generous desparate heart that makes us
Offer, "Take my silver. Here, take more."
