"Earth": the gnostic in me, perforce

"

"You were always right, and your holiest inspiration/is Death"(Rilke)


Without the sighing and crying, the spirits do mean to go, (better
  approximately than never)

  Dawn is not some one-inch cheek--
                                           I mean dead

This wan morn (pharisaical-wise) really does go either on its own
  or through dawn dust which raining down
  only settles into one good eye
  
                                          (as so much raining light!)

The challenge of it is to wait dry-eyed,  a peaceful calf-wait
 with sandy thigh,   til something, well something like the Tree,

    says the pine can out-spirit the real, hedges bend at the knee, &
    geese peck for meal (for god's sake!)

But look! the raised pink beribboned word of the supplicant, there
  between the spires (head over lectern)
  grows a meaty tongue
                                        & eats his own shit:
         
                   dead at dawn