A Song from the Orchard

What does the hurtling chariot bring?
What message of war for the throne?
And that this war
May be a kind of love.
Broken,
All broken,
Give me strength to begin
My duty,
My work of repair.
The dearest friend
Reaches out his hand,
The friend of your soul.
My name is:
Was…is…will be…
The Angel of the Presence
Opens his mouth
And the ram’s horn
Trumpets the jubilee.
Evil also is divine:
Angels, good and evil,
Serve alike.
Belial,
Do your worst,
For you are needed;
Lavish iniquities upon us,
Sow wickedness in the very ground.
Come,
Unseen world,
Invade
The seen,
Infuse,
Permeate,
Transmute.
We are workers in the world,
Midwives of the spirit,
Hauling forth
The bloody screaming babe.
Fire of voices,
Soaring,
Praising;
Fire and light,
Light and sound,
Raise paeans
To crescendo,
Then hush.
My eye sings an octave,
The music of light,
Blue,
Deep blue.
See,
I draw a circle in the sand,
In which I shall stand
And call for rain.
How far may I venture,
How far may I probe,
Into the Divine Will,
The heart of the cosmos,
Before I must turn back
Or be cast into the abyss?
Where is the world’s foundation,
That I might stand upon it?
Majesty,
Destroy me,
Break me apart
Like a peach,
That the stone shine forth,
Revealed.
Beauty is victory,
Beauty
Calls me to action,
To hold the balance
By prayerful works,
So let severity and mercy
Be one.
In my weakest moment,
The glory is most clear.
These spheres
Are wisdom’s sapphires,
Numbers of Creation,
My body,
The body of the world.
What little light I see
I call Eternity,
Infinity,
God…
Every atom of my body
Was once inside a star…
O fabulous fancy
Of the momentary world,
The laughing flux of things!
In a glass of wine
I find
A thousand poems.