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.