The Second Coming

By pathways of the Wind, by pathways of the Star,
The poets come to this our Earth.
Their footfall makes no sound, and ghostly is the bar
That bridges Lethe's misty dearth.

Their memory holds the sparks of ancient, primal fires,
And glimmers with an unknown Lore.
The scattered rainbows of our days and our desires
Greet them with light at heaven's door.

In bottomless eyes—a vast and unmeasured land,
Fields and crystalline mountains tall…
And northern lights of battles, where a bloody brand
Inscribes a fatal pattern's call.

And tears of morning dew, and smiles of flowers bright,
The freshness of the dawn's own haze,
The joyful whistle of the winds in heated flight
Above the swell of foreign bays…

And we shall live—in hovels and in palaces grand,
With songs and bread to be our pay,
As long as they, in hearts laid naked and unplanned,
Reflect the sky's immortal ray!

2005