Hold steadfast First feeling;
Allow not second-rate puppeteer
Capture, once more, the cannonball
Crack of her laughter, in yellow twinkle-toed
Like that jacket you lost, and the mango sorbet
Still stuck beneath her tongue.
Do you remember Last night
In the foreign field of our home,
Where sylvan stars gave birth,
Again and again?
A theater of billions
For a tragedy of two.
The city golden loathes all maps,
Owing existence eternal
To that certain peculiarity of geographical magic:
It cannot be found—
And once found cannot be left. If ever
You find your feet upon its sand,
Stay a lifetime longer; listen evermore
To Celebration’s glass sound, morning lightness;
Marvel until tomorrow’d tomorrow at triplet guardians,
Horizon-erasing waterfalls of stone and lavender marble.
Only that you forget.
There are no visitors in El-Fasaan:
Its language lacks the word.
Between the little spaces of their ambition,
Voice unwanted, undeserved,
As sunlight snatched from sketched-on-black winterday:
Valorous not in victory,
But ceaseless action against defeat divinely-destined.
Repent, else descends that endless night?
Let it come. And when, kindling-crushed she sleeps
Within destitute maw,
Swallow and taste naught
But the vast limbs of your words,
For judgment was never yours to hold:
Long ago she escaped, already to the moon.