Nov 2014
It is night now, and I am bloom all over.
Creeper crawling on earth, beneath:
the thicket of my blades, there lies
secret a crypt to eternity concealed.
I'm jasmine and I conceal a grave.
What is more deadly, say, concealment,
or the thing concealed? This is mystery.
I'm growing everywhere: by Himalaya
gazing at thunder cracking up the peaks.
By the well, where spake the Nazarene.
Clambering up to the heights of temple
towers, and kissing the eastern clouds.
But here is the whiff of fragrant endings:
concealment, more deathly than death.
Creeper crawling on earth, beneath:
the thicket of my blades, there lies
secret a crypt to eternity concealed.
I'm jasmine and I conceal a grave.
What is more deadly, say, concealment,
or the thing concealed? This is mystery.
I'm growing everywhere: by Himalaya
gazing at thunder cracking up the peaks.
By the well, where spake the Nazarene.
Clambering up to the heights of temple
towers, and kissing the eastern clouds.
But here is the whiff of fragrant endings:
concealment, more deathly than death.
Something is over, beyond redemption.
Incantations are not wont, resurrection,
out of question; Let her break her pots,
but tell Mary not to exhume the post, say
Lazarus was neither buried nor concealed.
Incantations are not wont, resurrection,
out of question; Let her break her pots,
but tell Mary not to exhume the post, say
Lazarus was neither buried nor concealed.
(Quantum Dot)
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