Perseus Kneels to the Crowd

As by the grace of a lifetime’s narrowed sight

Perseus knelt upon the blooming sphere

with the regularity of urbanity’s fuzzy light

unbroken by the drum of earthly years

 

He froze the night by medusa’s head

that the meteoric arrow rain

might stand upon its mirror’s bed

mutely dancing through its clouded grain—

 

Rising, ever rising, amidst its dying garden

a thousand years to whither, but never yet the mystery

of what should grant his writers’ pardon

for a thousand years of repetitious history.

When there is nothing

Before abyss come the clock-tower.

The little boy by midnight asks—

her look, lost in the candlelight—

the nature of empty books lain dormant,

the moonless night above a bridge

when there is nothing left to lose—

in sedimentary smiles she sighs:

when there is nothing

there is love.