but if a living dance upon dead minds
why,it is love;but at the earliest spear
of sun should perfectly disappear
moon's utmost magic,or stones speak or one
name control more incredible splendor than
our merely universe,love's also there:
and being here imprisoned,tortured here
love everywhere exploding maims and blinds
(but surely does not forget,perish,sleep
connot be photographed,measured;disdains
the trivial labelling of punctual brains...
---Who wields a poem huger than the grave?
from only Whom shall time no refuge keep
though all the weird worlds must be opened?
home, james