One Does Hear Rumors

I never know what’s in my heart
Nor likely will. Around it stand
Angels with leopard-spotted wings,
And unicorns untamed by virgin hand.

One does hear rumors. Like a child
Hears stories rattling in the ground
Of men that slew great dragons, died
Themselves but not ungloried in the act.

Or one who moves into a new house.
He’ll never see the genius of the place.
But all the floorboards eek their elderly
Tall tales of a former, maybe brooding, grace.

Unfortunately, I cannot find the thing.
Someone a many years ago did sell it off,
Took for its price a wad of cash, and Vegas thence.
A giant probably guards it in a chest, but sloth

Is never very far from ignorance,
And no one sells a map of fairy-land.
No alchemist yet born could make a lance
From those dull twins. But Lord, if there’s a chance,

Spit one last yearn of fire through my limbs,
Gut me with all your diamond, choose my eyes
To become East, and slip past all the rims
Of this world and the next into your prize.

The angel and the unicorns will bow their necks
To your Supreme, and meekly paradise aside
Until the engines of my marrow ask your leave
To Joshua, and swear your clarity in pride.