I would think of you
As Flame,
As Wind,
As Night,

To whom I have been
Wind,
And Flame
And Night,

Together burned and swept,
Now smothered
In separate darkness.

IX. MUD

I am dazed and weary
From the shapelessness
Of what I am--

I am poured
Among haphazard stones
In meaningless patterns.

Yesterday's sun dried me
Between rounded cobbles,
Today's deluge sweeps me
Toward alien pavements,
Tomorrow's sun shall dry me
In a new design.

Better the turbid gutter
Toward the open sea!

X. FOOLS SAY--

November's breath
Is black in the branches of trees
And under the bushes,

Harsh rain
Whips down the rustling dance
Of leaves.

There is smoke
In the throat of the wind,
Its teeth
Bite away beauty.

Let fools say:
"Spring
Will come again!"

Disillusion

I touch joy and it crumbles under my fingers--
The dust from it rises and fills the world,
It blinds my eyes--I cannot see the sun.
A choking fog of dust shuts me apart.

I remember the sparkling wind on a bright autumn morning,
I let down my hair and danced in the golden gale,
Then chased the wind as the wind chased fallen leaves--
Wind cannot be caught and tamed like a bird.

I touch joy and it crumbles to dust in my fingers.

November Afternoon

Upon our heads
The oak leaves fall
Like silent benedictions
Closing Autumn's gorgeous ritual,
And we, upborne by worship,
Lift our eyes to the altar of distant hills.

Beloved
How can I know
What gods are yours,
How can I guess the visions of your spirit,
Or hear
The silent prayers your heart has said?

Only by this I feel
Your gods akin to mine,
That when our lips have met
On this last golden Autumn afternoon
They have confessed in silence
Our kisses were less precious than our dreams.

Today, our passion drowned in beauty,
We turn away our faces toward the hills
Where purple haze, old incense,
Spreads its veil.

Yareth at Solomon's Tomb

At last
Your search is at an end,
King Solomon,

You, restless dreamer,
For whom each face held promise
Unfulfilled,
Whose hungry arms held many women,
(Though none could fill your need)
Who seized, but never loved,
This is your sepulchre...

I who till today
Questioned my heart
Now find it buried with you
In this tomb;

So now I