Anticipation
Moon, Moon, see what I give you, moon.
an offering, as images
Hitherto quiescent in their primal darkness
Writhe upward from the writhing mind
Like sacrificial smoke.
For now my mind avid for the sea
Destined to replace it surges like that surface
Under the cool frenzy of your midnight glow
And unsettles to the point where I
Rehearse the end pursued: first,
My tossing on reflected horns; then after, sunk
In lucent ambiences where your pull
Unfurls the seaweed's banner from my spine
And where my vacant skull can measure out
Eternity in grains of sand.
Wholly dissolved, draw me up loosely
Till poised in an exquisite crest
I indicate the centre where your forces gather.
Moon, moon, see what I give you, moon.
To little purpose is the blood I offer:
Burdened with a death still unachieved,
I sometimes tremble when my diapason swells,
Being inwardly aware that I
But reinforce its absence by these words
Restored again by your affective light.
But I approach the headlong fall, the pitch
Which happens as the dream exhausts its depths.
Meantime I keep on waiting unfulfilled,
A rotten fruit that moulders from the core.
Moon, moon, what more can I give you, moon?
Copyright © James Dickie | Year Posted 2006
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