Being Beauteous

Being Beauteous

a fall

of snow,

a Being Beauiful,

and very tall.

Whistlings of death and circles of faint music

Make this adored body, swelling and trembling

Like a specter, rise…

and scarlet gashes burst in the gleaming flesh.

The true colors of life grow dark, Shimmering and sperate.

In the scaffolding, around the Vision.

Shiverings mutter and rise,

And the furious taste of these effects is charged

With deadly whistlings and the raucous music

That the world, far behind us,

hurls at our mother of beauty…

She retreats, she rises up…

Oh! Our bones have put on new flesh, for love.

Oh ash-white face. Oh tousled hair.

O crystal arms! On this cannot I mean to destroy myself

In a swirling of trees and soft air!