Note by Note in the Rings of Coiling Eyes

            And who do you think did Penelope,

                the One Who Envelops with Eyes,

                give birth to Pan of Cloven Hoof?

 

There is beholding that enwraps

like a python’s thorough, seizing

thread—coiling round its knots

that thieve and win one’s breath.

 

There is beholding that wraps about

whom they love like the air turning

bright as it rings its smarting flame

which whip and well in winding waves.

 

That’s how lolling nymphs of old

used to worry and ride and must

have lapped sea beasts’ pliant necks,

 

and kingdoms rose, and kingdoms fell.

Thus, the living caduceus twines and

welds its rings to make a tuning wand.

O Time, O Heart, Where Is This Gate?

 

A way of going out which brings

return—let it be this moment’s

sinuous sign and fleeting motion

that charms and churns the unseen,

 

letting it come into view and speak

some of the names long-lost even.

Think of such one moment that rolls

and curves time itself to a line that cuts,

 

to a point that, holding all, stays this rush,

to a point of sheer beholding and ingress

where the soul draws her deepest breath.

 

But isn’t any moment at its heart—only if

there is one such heart—and its attendance

and its wrap—ever so—such one divine gate?

Poetry in a Nutshell

 

La voix est une autre vue

et une autre paire d’yeux,

une voie à se rapprocher.

Therefore, a rapture,

 

transport, exaltation born.

On the very tip of light

where one’s soul keeps

her steadfast watch.

 

Et la rime de sa rencontre

est cet appel constant,

car dans son son est l’amour.

 

And there, in such soundness

and beholding once more

found, love becomes a song.