REFORMATION
 
I
 
Underneath the pressed-marble foundations   
They have buried the witches,   
And in the dark library store rooms, they have put away 
    the myth.   
Now the dark shape drifts up the stairs,   
Stands on the rostrum, and conjures.   

A chain of laughter moves around the cocktail party,   
Light laughter like the clink of glass and ice   
And the jingle of bracelet rings.   
The smoke rises between us in a screen,   
And everyone is gay except for you,   
And you are restless and turn away   
To look for nothing,   
And could not tell me, if I asked you,   
"Why!"   

Dante rose out of his grave and passed a bar.   
From the asylum where the air is a camouflage   
And the intimacy impersonal, he heard Hell's music.   

The well dressed lady blushed and said,   
"Would you mind if I call you Father?"   
"Not at all, if it helps," he said.   
The well dressed lady bowed her head   
And tried to find a way to tell.   

When the storm lifts the litter from the streets   
And screams around the buildings   
Tearing at the wires and throwing down the leaves,   
When the earth heaves and breaks itself,   
And the sea comes up in a great hand to slap the land,   

The shadow rides upon the water   
And contorts his face in lightning   
For the pain of another power.
    

II 
 
In my dreams I run until I am out there   
In the middle of everywhere, Wyoming,   
Where a hundred thousand voices sing the silence,   
And clouds as big as giants expand their chests and roar!   
Where there is a stillness in between   
For the quiet things that sing in the smaller amplitudes   
And play on the fragile strings,   
Where only flowing water passes never hours   
And the undulance and coolness of the stream   
Shares the lovely solitude of dreams.   
It is a myth the quiet place.   
I waken from the illusion of the schedule   
Into the shelter of the willow,   
The soothing moving of the water,   
And the warm enclosing arms of sun.  
 
III

Idumea, Idumea, we have forgotten.   
The blur of pigeon wings moves into the evening,   
Following the day into the west,   
Dipping under the rose edge of the gray bowl   
And out into the ever-light.   
The great eye dims as earth turns beneath the aperture   
And closes away the blue.   
Plate-glass windows watch the white translucence   
Change through blue into the crystal black of night   
And sigh into the security of stars.   

Idumea, Idumea, we have forgotten.   
The shadow hovers down so near   
We cannot see. We only feel the cold, like fear,   
Brush past, and wait and play to pass the time   
That's ticking faster than before,   
And the dark shape moves from door to door.   
Who knows when it has passed   
Or whether we are all dead at last? 

 
©1972 William H. Southwell
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