Ezekiel

Incarnated among appearances, a voice
That like the lazy morning lilts and in me
Lingers, under the familiar, invisible
And barely audible, a promise or a spell
In which is rehearsed the gaiety its tiding brings,
A solemn exhortation to rejoice,
Where, like the spider's fly, the things
Of all this world harbored, what the earth
Produces and their elements of birth
Entangle me.  Wound up in and by these lives
I only can watch raptly as by chariot arrives
The sorcerer who keeps within her gallery
The forces of her manifest. What worth
Will carry me into the ice of afternoon,
If through the prism of the morning I can see,
Under the endurance of the present, what lacunae,
Omens of her rapt appearances, are yet to be,
The whistle and the adze, spokes and song, if humanity
Unable to endure, unwilling to commune,
Is yet too stubborn or too weak to come so near
The revelations I prefigure here?