An Oblique Memoir


The Earth is configured in relation 
to the Universe with a mystical 
geometry that determines the seasons

We once made the world that fit the pattern
Now with cunning we feign to make a world
that would no longer heed even reason
We resemble those ungrateful children
who see not from where their liveliness springs

Sometimes I like to sit in the fading light
without the electricity burning
The room views dim and reduce in contrast 
My mind scans the growing gloom and imagines
the bright imprints of memory and faith

Tonight I sing for a hundred milkmen 
and ten friends of mixed ages and cultures
I speak to the ceiling made of pictures
The paradox of vision compels me
in patterns of mystery and shadows

Rome, 6 April 2006