Friday, August 12, 2016

Vast, Glowing Vault

with the swarm of
black stars pushing them-
selves out and away:

on to a ram’s silicified forehead
I brand this image, between
the horns, in which,
in the song of the whorls, the
marrow of melted
heart-oceans swells.

to what
does he not charge?

The world is gone, I must carry you. 

Paul Celan