I should prefer another Life–
An Aeon past or fore —
Where bodies bronzed with Calcinite
Are sealed beyond stone doors,
That Time’s slow tricks would emulate
Pure placement by pure chance,
That when my past became my fore,
I need not choose the Dance.
I should prefer another Skin —
One worn bone smooth with Age —
That Youth should wear as recompense
For posturing on Life’s stage,
That Life pay twice for having once
Set this Bright Being free
Within the light upon the stairs
Which rise up from the sea.
I should prefer another Night —
Not this Sphere strung with stars —
That in that Dark would –Luminous —
Fold the Near into the Far.
Then such a Path would never need
The knowledge of Braille to Know,
But harvest light from the Sun’s Rose Heart
Until the forgetting of the Snow.
![](http://americandigest.org/wp/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/aaachartres.jpg)
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If the pain’s so great you cannot wait
for rough nature to take its course,
then take my best wishes as a salve,
the best of all I have.
With all ties unbound, all lies undone,
melted down, alloyed with love and truth,
set sail as spirit glowing and now knowing
all you must, you’ve won the way back to the One.
Been there. Ugly, damnable place. You open the door, but closing it is like swimming in mud.
There is no romance in suicide, only the hateful bitter end and remorseless unanswered questions.
Saw that window in person a month ago in Chartres, France. Spectacular.