The Friend

You are so far away.

The space that parts our gaze

Cannot be bridged

in a single day.

But my yearning is so strong

That it carries me boldly

Into your presence.

I see you

In the loneliness of your tower

In a cross-vaulted room at evening

Like a minor divinity

Of some dark cult, enthroned

Upon an enormous chair,

Before you, a white book,

Into which you dig for signs and figures.

-Night rises from the sea

With dread and greatness.

A pointed crescent moon

Soars up.

The waves thrash dully

And powerfully into the hollowed out cliff

On which, like an idol to duration,

Your tower stands.

The waves roar, beating, beating,

Eternally scooping into the cliff.

It is, to you, the sound

Of a giant heart

And sometimes you are filled with dread

When it too wildly

And feverishly roars.

-Then, you feel it again

Like the beating of your own heart.

The sea roars dully

And powerfully in the blood

Und exceeds

The tender strength of your puny body.

You would like to build temples

That last as long as pyramids

And, thereby, some new myth proclaim.