Horizons

Horizons are an ample thing.
Many’s the time that I have dreamt of one,
Flat like a woman’s belly, or the moon
Running itself in a sphere; wings that unfold
And never fold, Albus chasing Azure.
I find Horizons everywhere.
The solipsism of Pythagoras
Dancing the vulture-dance of Thrace,
Is shattered on them like a lacquered plate
Is shattered on the marble threshing-floor,
At an Olympian banquet;
Pankration having taught him how to dream,
Our Jacob and his golden limbs
Became a fisher-king;
Those wheat-berries and cinnamon
Are eaten, sugared, in Elysium.
I had a thought, and it was this:
That history is for eternity,
Eternity for history.
They are like sister-wives to One
Jealous and uncreated Groom.
Seek out the name you had
Before the world was born;
Like song-birds shaken from a tree,
Horizons fly from that White Stone
Where God has hidden you from every eye.
I wander, wounded in the thigh,
Until, a pebble in my sling, I dream of one.