Le paradis n'est pas artificiel …

April 05, 2004

continued cantos


We've extended ourselves,

      the rope       has already       been cut,

      the words       reach only       so far.

Just as a sheet of paper can only

be folded seven times, there are

no words for this place:

        words that cannot

              be written

have been lost,

        stories that cannot

              be uttered,

we are losing too

      but in poetry         (in cognito,       in defense)

in a poem one can still find

        floating words

              for God, et demersa prius

              hac visa luce resurgit.

Posted by Delire at April 5, 2004 11:29 AM
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