Perhaps

- jan-u-wine
On the Occasion of March 25th


Perhaps
   you imagine

   it was dark
   within

   the Chamber,

   dark
   and filled with more

   horror
   than ever

   anyone might have thought.

   Perhaps
   you

   imagine wrongly.

   Even now
   I recall

   that over-balanced moment
   of terror

   giving way to sweated bliss,

   the heat
   and tumult

   of the place
   replacing the stilling murmur of my heart,

   the hot bite of sulphur in my nostrils
   become

   sweeter than any honey-laden Spring.

   No one can know the fury of my joy then,

   my desire,
   my...........



   love.

   My......love,

   taken and taking,

   there,
   upon the very edge of forever.

   And I left myself,

   became this
   thing

   of ancient beauty,
   {of untellable evil},

   all the clamouring voices

   that ever were
   speaking within me,

   the great golden river
   of them carrying me away.

   The wonder
   ends

   almost before it has rightly begun,

   the very air like liquid fire within my lungs,
   the pain of my hand

   nothing
   in compare to this other loss.

   And my blood sprays up
   upon the walls,

   drying even as it touches them,

   jagged finger-bone
   glistening white in the sullen red light.


   I am cold now,
   cold by compare,

   trembling
   still

   with need,

   already desiring
   the foul sanctuary

   I shall never know again,

   already
   finding the world lessened

   by Its leaving.

   Some part of me wakes:

   Sam is here,

   dear
   to me still,

   (or, perhaps,
   again).

   There is a certain
   comfort

   in the touch of his hand,
   a certain grim

   surety
   in the pain'd contact between
   flesh and flesh:

   We live.

   We live,
   still.

   Sam,

   being Sam,
   is not content

   to
   await here

   our certain (and momentary) ending.

   At least he might see

   the sun and sky
   one last time,

   at least,
   a wind,

   freshened by
   evil's departure,

   might softly touch
   his face.

   It is a small thing to step through the door.

   A small thing,
   to leave behind the echoes of a golden call

   and the warm resonance of It taking me
   beyond myself.

   * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   Perhaps you imagine it was dark within the Chamber.

   Never so dark as that which
   remains

   within me.