I am counting the beads –
crystallized sentient breathings,
the solemn diamond from the chisel foreseen.
I am the biting wind of acumen,
the wine coagulated in the veins of ennui.
Come down the twilight,
that I may lay amidst the flowers
of this ancient absurdity,
and gaze through the dust and skulls’ eyes
to gain insight into the honeyed portal
which the masters called
the harmony of the snake pools most mortal.
Come down the twilight
upon the relief and trampoline of a canvas
which rests beneath the will of undying conquering.