MyGen
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Prophecy on Lethe
Echo, the beating of the tide,
Infringes on the blond curved shore;
Archaic weeds from sleep’s green side
Bind skull and pelvis till the four
Seasons of the blood are unified.
Anonymous sweet carrion,
Blind mammal floating on the stream
Of depthless sound, completely one
In the cinnamon - dark of no dream-
A pod of silence, bursting when the sun
Clings to the forehead, will surprise
The gasping turtle and the leech
With your strange brain blooming as it lies
Abandoned to the bipeds on the beach;
Your jelly-mouth and, crushed, your polyp eyes.
-Stanely Kunitz
