HEATWAVES: A POEM CYCLE
Eos, Who is the Dawn, births the world (תֹ֙הוּ֙ וָבֹ֔הוּ).
She is riding through the firmament, astride
A white horse, which carries behind it
A chariot, all gold and bronze.
In the Great City, Castor
Steps onto the porch.
Lights a cigarette.
Looks up at the sky.
(- Es ist kalt nacht, oder?
- Да, но солнечный свет приближается.)
They share a light
On the concrete patio
Of a Traphouse, downtown;
They can hear the drumbeat,
Through the paper-thin walls.
The sun strikes the glass towers
And they gleam, radiant and joyus
And in that moment, all is consumed
Brigid, Industrial Poet,
Gazes out at New World.
Red Flag of the Union
Crimson glory unfurled
Waves atop the refinery
("I wished upon some stars last night
But they were only satellites")
Pneumatic hammers Pound
Steel into shining silver
Rockets, skyward bound.
The Filí sings:
( - Look upon our works,
Ye mighty, and despair! )
We will tame this foreign earth
The air will become like our own
The waters will be pure and fresh
And our forges shall forever be lit
Kresnik, The Wildland Hearth,
Burns in his mountain-home.
This land is human now.
Cicadas buzz, fire dances.
Wood cracks, smell of smoke.
Riverrun through watermill
As the Castle stands eternal.
We enter the interminable and desolate summer:
The storm we will weather with clenched teeth,
And light in our eyes, and dreams in our chests.
Behold the perpetual Now.
("We approach that region where
dwell the vast hosts of the dead")
The end will be upon us, eventually,
And until then the world stumbles on,
As though propelled forward inexorably
Agni, Messenger of the Absolute Yajna,
Takes up the charred bones and flesh
Which once were the World, and which
Now lie at the heart of a great flame:
Dissasembled. Deconstructed. Dying.
He brings the World — which is now
An Organless Body — to Aeon.
In this moment, we happy few
Who do not know how to live
Shall be healed, as though
Renewed By Fire.