Tuesday, March 9, 2010

MARIA LUNA

(1)
We found the cavern's entry
halfway up the mountain
where the cedars grow thin,
and snow lasts 'til June.

There in the ground was buried
a cornice without inscription
it felt like a tomb though Maria Luna
swore it was not.

Rather the way to the chapel
of her ancestors,
those now disappeared from this earth,
there where a cure
may be found

And so we followed her first
through a cave which stank
of bat guano,
a tall hallway to judge by its echo,
and then through tunnels
which had to be crawled

o how it felt like
the weight of the world
was soon to be upon us
crushing our breath

only she knew the way
down the rickety stairway
or could find
the key to the door
at the floor of a well

carrying the lantern,
the vocative firelight,
among the mine's striations
refracted like a prism
or mineral bride

(sleep old Niobe sleep,
rock and cradled in grief)
2
Beyond the moonbeamish world of artifact,
stalactite and crystal,
Maria Luna where have you lead us?
Beyond reflective pools
in limestone grottoes
under the hill,
these tall columns
are caryatids if women,
atlantides, or Atlases, if men,
all of another age,our ancients:
but should they wake the world will end.
(sleep old Niobe sleep,
rock and cradle your grief)
3
Still I become as a moveless stone
or a nymph barked up in a tree,
salt of old time has stained my tongue
how the heart hardens
there is no rhyme
this is what turns when the spindle's done
the waters of Lethe are white
(sleep old Niobe sleep
rock and cradle your grief)
4
Nothing will be remembered when I am one,
nothing, not even the smallest detail,
simplest pleasure of simplest taste
all quite forgot and never replaced,
the rose aroma or fecal smell,
all quite forgot when I am one

when I am one I won't be alone
not with all that I've forgot,
neither the title or plot
neither the teller or tale,
neither the song or the spell
neither the snow or the sun

all will make sense when nothing is known
when I am one with what I've forgot,
I will be like a stone in the sun
who does not care
how the battle has gone
neither the teller or tale,
neither the song or the spell,
neither the title or plot,
neither the snow or sun
I will be one with what I am not
nothing will be what I am not
neither the snow or the sun,
neither the song or the spell,
neither the teller or tale,
neither the title or plot,
I will be one with what I've forgot,
I'll be like the snow on the stone
and the snow on the stone in the sun

(sleep old Niobe sleep
rocked and cradled in grief)
(march 11/ 2010)
( from a fragment in an old notebook)

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