There at the end the virgin counsels us
If we ask if she chooses
This is a black this is a white
A world simple a world chosen
Not the now knowing not knowing the then
A world dreamt of worlds undreaming
Here we doubt there was no never doubting
In the stripes of these shadows
The haunting gives no unhaunted time to reflect
A time passant a world unmoved
There at the end the virgin still counsels
In kneeling admitting that we admit
That time was it's own that time truth
An innocence flavour within these shadows
In the dark being of the intended focus
Become my unique my hermit usual
Trapped in habits imagined reality this my drape
Enchanted by failure of chantless cloisters
I'm always drawn to visual poems (the only kind of poem in my mind) . I like the dark and light and shadows. Kind of scary. It's like going down a dark alley in a Film Noir Here again, we have a doubling and tripling of words which really works! Reminds me David Mamet. 'Put that coffee DOWN! Coffee is for closers! Anyway, the poem is great. One of your best.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Cool Man! It's like a Howard Hawks. Nice!