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.
beautiful