Paradise (pt.2)

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“I believed in Zeus & Apollo & not in Christ,
and the nun: ‘well,
it’s all the same religion.’
She was Italian, after all…”

The golden dust footprint-deep on the road
& the air golden with sun-light
& around any turning of the road a tree or a god,

a god or a goddess,
ivy-tressed,
skin the color of sun-light,
dusted with gold, dust of autumn grapes,
the old wise eyes, half-lidded,¬†—
“She turned her eyes to me,
and she inclined her head, so;
and the light of the golden hour
shone on her shoulder,
and on her soft throat,
and I came to her there…”

 

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Paradise (pt.1)

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And the sea,
the sea tranquil this winter’s day;
and Ezra, old man gone silent at last, —
ear, ear for the sea-surge
—¬†gone silent, hearing no voices,

only the sea, the measureless sea
fills his ears
bidding him be silent,
bidding him hear no voices

who took genius for wisdom
who took passion for faith
who for atonement took sadness and silence,

took bitterness, despairing of Paradise.

“How are you today, Maestro?”
“Senile!”

And the great sea
surges, surges, the world’s measure.
He may hear it who has the ear for it,
he may bring it forth who has a tongue for it.

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