Variations (With One Brief Exception)

I

Into the cave, high by the magpies, notes
Like the cliffs by the sea and rising
Into the air, the cave and the air, through
Notations and dusk, and a chipped mask.

II

Time passes, and they forget
That fire is the origin of all,
Particularly sound, that fire first
Boiled the earth
And sent up the lava in steam
Which coalesced into sound again,
Rigid, unyielding, iron's violent sin,
That reigns over the earth.

III

Not that I won't be scarlet in the morning,
For mornings are stained with the dead men's blood,
And the women's, with the whites of their infants' eyes
Floating along like egg-shells in a silence that courses
Between stripped branches and downtrodden leaves.

IV

Then there was war, which was lonely, gunshots
Ringing of a midnight, and Phoebe blushed;
The fields were strewn with bodies, young men
Next to their fathers, arms cross-wise
Over arms, the golden wheat blanched
Red, like the stain of beef on a sesame bun.

V

We came to the sun, sailing in a rig
For six days, and on the seventh day,
Light, light everywhere, fluorescent
Spindles churning out the fabric of light,
Cables of pure light hanging across cables
Of thick light, and white sparks sagging
Through the pockets of the patchwork,
Like children in the cradle of the dawn.

(VI)

Less and less the more I read I like
The way the book sails
Between two ports,
Irrelevance and awe. As if to say:
"There's a pleasing draught in mystery
Unveiled." But stripping a bust
Is shameful:
Even marbles blush.

VI

This mask, as the years envelop it,
Grows paler and more gaunt, but there are traces
Of charcoal under the chin, a spot of pitch on the tip
Of the nose, and weeds invest it
With shadows, while the shallows
Scuttle between its teeth.