I the player and the prize

I the loser and the penalty.

And I am always starting out
for the islands,
always seeking the boatman
and asking if the self is fair

destination arrived at or deferred are my biography

that and the fruits of summer
and even the orchards of autumn

and no matter what the whores of war
will shout about
there is no war can match the peace
no calm after a battle which truly befits it

the shadows of the orchards confirm this
and the self is sure of this truth
which for sure it is a burden
but is also a beauty

here is a harbour
here is a blessing
here is a shaded place
we might rest a while in.


How sweet to contemplate and speak the lyric
how even in the despair of this world's twilight
it has efficacy and charm and healing force.
I drew lines on a map
between the cities of the heart
and those of the mind-
they all met in the same place
and that place was where I was

(the self espouses such coordinates
takes a measure by
and no matter how tentative its faith in them
still draws on that faith for substance)

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