MAGDELENA [for William Blake] The seawind stings my eyes. My mind eclipsed, magnetoed Like the gulls, turns seaward. All that bright hair With its moony curls Once lost: A tidal wave on the cerebellum! . . . . . The wiry outlines brand the haze. The smoky forms, The indecipherable runes, In deeper focus, Issue in cartoons. . . . . . . His ulcer is benign, today. It’s said his breath’s so foul, His robe spawns mushrooms, Blue-stemmed, white as death. Listless on its palm and fingers (What huge carbuncular jewels Hide the cut and bruise Of cosmic craftsmanship!) Great Wizard’s frothy head Stares back at me, As if he mourned the grand red giants Shrinking into white dwarfs, Or all those little mites Who grimly cope (Forgive me Brothers!) Beneath the electron microscope. . . . . . . I dream of you, Magdelena, On a starlit porch Above the sea. Once more, the frozen squadron (The Child cut them, murex, Out of the sky) I dream of you, Magdelena, Once more, with pelicans. Great Wizard, His ulcer is benign. He kept, today, The sun from blowing up, That old sweet ball of Autumn’s loveliness All poised and plump upon his wand. I pointed to the broad, bright sun Across the waters. "Look, my dear, the Father Has his lantern out To spy upon his progeny. We must be sanctified til sundown." We defied him, nakedly, With terrycloth and gin. You arose, Magdelena, In the darker orange light And found our keepsake: A severed, armored claw Stuffed with sand. . . . . . Keep the lantern high, My Lord. Let me break a leg To mend a heart. "Go, titanium rose. Tell the cosmos, discreetly, That our grand mechanick ears Are spinning in despair. ‘Com hider, love, Com hider, love, Com hider, love, to me.’ This may be time For the ungathering of waters. Something more than grave May issue from coronas!" . . . . . . I wish you silver candlesticks, My love, And bread and wine, Until the Keeper of the Word, Unmercifully, Pays no more lip service To design.