The Eightth Day
O Muse, o alto ingegno, or m’ ajutate!
o mente, che scrivesti ciò’ ch’ io vidi
qui si, parra la tua nobilitate.
Dante
A
The deeds of the eighth day
commenced when love
descended to earth again.
When she undid her hair
iridescence shaded the light and
the nerves of responsibility
were on edge over the plantation
of the horizon and
the shackles of stars.
The great roar was muffled and
the rosemary in the north-wind pot
B
Dance of the water with kerchiefs of myrtle and
the green steps of the forest
erased the marble letters of graves and
the lines of Fate in our hands
these and wheat ears
as they shoot to the gleam
of gold mines and
fountains laying their hair
onto the feet of the morning vesper and
the hymns of free from fire skylarks
Libros Libertad 