Where Is It That We Go?

The sea is always there,

Pale and soft;

Brushy rim of air,

Or film of silken cloth

In lightest foldings fall'n, defines the island.

Enamel sky lets dangle

A Crown embossed,

Argent massif fork handle.

Pendulum estopped

Half up, it makes a handsome ornament

Above the sparsely scattered

Qualities.

As Faith or Courage mattered,

Reared in granite masses,

Are both rocks and their own aery selves;

So we, two statued figures

On the plain,

With robed and noble gestures

Explicate, contain

A grave and loving, silent conversation.

Nor not just you you are,

But several;

My uncle, as Chinese scholar

By a waterfall,

Extends his own perspective from your temple...

We rifle two thirds of our lives

To people this land

And clothe it; so to arrive,

Mayhap, at its essence, trans-

Substance layman and reversed albeit.

Cry the Psyche doctors,

Eroticism;

Decry they should not viator

So far come, so be-prism'd

And brilliant-Eros or other-with instances

Of that desirable country,

Also ours,

Whose radiant geography,

On lucky days, outpours,

Cascades its sweetness on our waking hours.

III