Philosophia Perennis

I turned: quivering yellow stars in blackness I wept: how speech may save a woman The picture changes & promises the heroine That nighttime & meditation are a mirage To discuss pro & contra here is mute Do I not love you, day? A pure output of teleological intentions & she babbles, developing a picture-theory of language Do I not play the delicate game of language? yes, & it is antecedent to the affairs of the world: The dish, the mop, the stove, the bed, the marriage & surges forth the world in which I love I and I and I and I and I and I, infinitely reversible Yet never secure in the long morning texture A poor existing woman-being, accept her broken heart & yet the earth is divinity, the sky is divinity The nomads walk & walk.