Colloquy

Come now, clean and melancholy dove.
Quit the unsung water of their anguish.
Speak low, and let the rumored beats above
upbraid the bitter cities which languish
in an agony of awful musing.
Slip beneath my shoulder now. Slit my side.
Taste this ingemminate life infusing
you with you as you had been till the pride
of the beautiful firedrake flecked your eyes.
Think not of what can’t cross the cleansing stream,
but touch that chain that sounds the deepest skies,
knowing nothing is as nothing ever seems.
Peace—this sorrow’s piercing sweetness remains,
converting ampler griefs by simpler pains.

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