The Transitory

The Transitory “In the prison of his days Teach the free man how to praise” -Auden I. The Transitory I wrote my letters in the sand: A poem; a wistful, wishing thought, and the world held my words instead of me. But transitory as things are, the waves came up And washed the words away Leaving the faintest imprint: Nothing beside remains. On the sandy beach beside the ocean’s crash and sing One can feel release from size And shrink to the sound of the song. But I don’t think it sings for me II. The Double I call to the mysterious one who yet shall walk The wet sands by the edge of the sea And look most like me. He will be my double and friend, And I will invite him with me To dance the dance macabre And hear the sad coyote cry With a shared bottle of Old No. 7. And he will understand our modern hope To find ourselves and not an image. III. Desertion But this gyre’s winding to a point Sharp enough to pierce the flesh, the heart, the soul, And falcon, ladder, wild swans and all Are gone to who knows where. This must be desertion. Oh Terrible Beauty born of Bethlehem, All is gone! All lost! Yet give a little grace What if a laughing eye Have looked into your face? Something’s about to die. IV. Freed Yet soft and quick does nature flip Bringing living from the dead, And the rough beast I saw born in me At last lay down his head. And freed was I to step to light; To see a hope divine. Happy was the heart grown long On the happiness that was mine. V. End Perhaps I was written at a slant; My story all told sideways In a language I don’t know. But I’m still reading along. If Truth flourishes where the students lamp has shone And there alone, then I will read: Touching pages like a child. Yet sometimes, I grow wild Even accusing Heaven Who had set me down among its laws. But now an end: I saw my freedom won, And all laugh in the sun.