Song

It is an occurrence of my being:
and then, the happiness within me
is mightier than me, than my bones,  
which you grind in an embrace,
always painful, rapturous always.

So we might chat, might talk, might speak
long, vitreous words, like chisels
that separate the cold river from the hot delta,
night from day,  basalt from basalt

Take me happiness upwards, smash
my temple against the stars, until
my elongated, everlasting world
becomes a column or something else,
much taller and erelong.

How wonderful that you are, what an astonishment that I am!
Two different songs, colliding, blending,
two colours never seen before,
one from lower down, prone to the ground,
the other from above, almost fractured,
in the fervent and unrivalled struggle,
of the marvel that you are, of the occurrence that I am!