Against Transcendence

 

Beyondness exhausts me:

the false promise

of the sea, steady exhaltation

of waves, the summoning—

 

sky exuberantly blue

as if you could swim in it.

 

I strode wide of myself once:

that wedding is dead.

 

I served as witness

to my soul's long yearned-for

worthless and lonely enthronement.

 

I force no ghost to show itself.

 

I turn from the waves,

turn from the hills

humiliating themselves

with a cheerful late sheen of snow,

 

I turn from those pale-gold

flickerings—abandoned chapel

deep in a wood lit

by a single candle—

 

that are her eyes.

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