Swallowed

“The difference between my darkness and your darkness is that I can look at my own badness in the face and accept its existence while you are busy covering your mirror with a white linen sheet. The difference between my sins and your sins is that when I sin I know I'm sinning while you have actually fallen prey to your own fabricated illusions. I am a siren, a mermaid; I know that I am beautiful while basking on the ocean's waves and I know that I can eat flesh and bones at the bottom of the sea. You are a white witch, a wizard; your spells are manipulations and your cauldron from hell yet you wrap yourself in white and wear a silver wig.”

"I know not what to do: To turn and slake The rage that burns, With my breath burn And trouble your cool breath— So shall I turn and take Snow in my arms, (Is love’s gift best?) Yet flake on flake Of snow were comfortless, Did you lie wondering, Wakened yet unawake"

"My mind is quite divided; My minds hesitate, So perfect matched I know not what to do. Each strives with each: As two white wrestlers, Standing for a match, Ready to turn and clutch, Yet never shake Muscle or nerve or tendon; So my mind waits To grapple with my mind Yet I am quiet, I would seem at rest."

"I know not what to do. Will the sound break, Rending the night With rift on rift of rose And scattered light? Will the sound break at last As the wave hesitant, Or will the whole night pass And I lie listening awake?"

Fragment XXXVI By H. D. From “Hesperides”

https://www.bartleby.com/300/2395.html

‘It seemed I’d risen naked in a vanished recollection when you came, strange and familiar, my beloved to grant me, bending, the boundless deliverance I was seeking from the wind’s quick sistrum. . .’

"...The passing of time is soft and unworldly and pain floats lightly in my soul dawn breaks in the heavens, the dream remains afloat..."

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51363/erotikos-logos

I close my eyes looking for the secret meeting-place of the waters under the ice the sea’s smile, the closed wells groping with my veins for those veins that escape me there where the water-lilies end and that man who walks blindly across the snows of silence. I’ve kept a rein on my life, with him, looking for the water that touches you heavy drops on green leaves, on your face in the empty garden, drops in the motionless reservoir striking a swan dead in its white wings living trees and your eyes riveted

How labyrinthine that word, 'Epiphania', Alkas. Perhaps all poems were leading to this latest epiphany I thought through and wrote. Perhaps I should have titled it Epiphania. Thank you for your kind comment. Leanne

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/51365/epiphany-1937