To the Cleft of the Mountain We Go

Compositional Study for the Voyage of Life: Manhood, c. 1840 painting by Thomas Cole - via Wikimedia Commons

Fold up the linen and keep the receipts
Re-bury the boxes in earth.
Tight—shut the windows, hermetically seal
Let nobody see its birth!

Golden-brown bodies with Sun-kissed lips
Don silver-moon garments of old.
Hush—cool silence for raging and violence
Fire’s mouth must be closed to console.

To the cleft of the mountain we go!

Unsay, unsing, be mute as the stone
For the fire will give you away.
Elusive eyes beckon across misty shores
A faltering glance may betray.

Gather the bones and sweep up the crypts
Encrypt all the texts as well.
Bind feet of dancers, poets, and romancers
For the folding of Time ends in Hell.

To the cleft of the mountain we go!

Sightless hunters on shadowy hills
Glisten—scattered beads on the floor.
Panting and spent and crookedly bent.
They search through the glades no more.

Sistrums hiss to lulling of lutes
Calling all Seekers back home.
Parched the soil and sieve-like the cup
In golden mine Mind the Sun shone.

To the cleft of the mountain we go!

Imageless Lethe from sewers arise
And flood earth as in the Beginning.
Shake the Great Tree and let the fruit rot
Return all your robes of linen.

We’ll wait. We’ll wait. Patient as rock.
Till Moon ripens full as the Sun.
Infinite cycles rewind once again
Tireless hands of ka on the clock.

To the cleft of the mountain we go!