Where you are going -------------------------------------------
Turn back toward the surf applauding
Spume that floats like blurred white horses
Sea-wide waves wait with sand in hand
To rock and spin and spit you out alive
And thankful though slaved to the cold kings
Celestial sphere. He will not hide his steel blue light.
But tonight he beams an old unblinking eye
On a deep domain away and darker down
Drive your car through the new spring mist
Red eyes of angles go lighted through the fog
And glide this unpaved drift of morning.
But we of bones and skin are scattered
Where no white god can see us now, cloaked and lonely,
In the unbearable warmth of his benevolence.
And although he searches by his hands
We still elude his holy wave
Run along each animal-eyed gaseous green
By fawn and doe and hear the woods make music
But do not follow down the fallow earth below
Nor be enticed by floating airs
That call you from the promenade
To enter with the humanlike shadows
And sing along the arborescent shades;
With hand held out until the phantoms fade
This is some depth fully replete thinking on the mystic symbiosis' of metaphysical mystique and corporeally preternatural. I enjoyed this romp through the fecund fields of your virilities. I didn't really comprehend these things when I was your age.