![]() The Third Hour of the Night
When the eye When the edgeless screen receiving light from the edgeless universe When the eye first When the edgeless screen facing outward as if hypnotized by the edgeless universe When the eye first saw that it Hungry for more light resistlessly began to fold back upon itself TWIST As if a dog sniffing Ignorant of origins familiar with hunger As if a dog sniffing a dead dog Before nervous like itself but now weird inert cold nerveless Twisting in panic had abruptly sniffed itself When the eye first saw that it must die When the eye first Brooding on our origins you ask When and I say Then • wound-dresser let us call the creature driven again and again to dress with fresh bandages and a pail of disinfectant suppurations that cannot heal for the wound that confers existence is mortal wound-dresser what wound is dressed the wound of being • Understand that it can drink till it is sick, but cannot drink till it is satisfied. It alone knows you. It does not wish you well. Understand that when your mother, in her only pregnancy, gave birth to twins painfully stitched into the flesh, the bone of one child was the impossible-to-remove cloak that confers invisibility. The cloak that maimed it gave it power. Painfully stitched into the flesh, the bone of the other child was the impossible-to-remove cloak that confers visibility. The cloak that maimed it gave it power. Envying the other, of course each twin tried to punish and become the other. Understand that when the beast within you succeeds again in paralyzing into unending incompletion whatever you again had the temerity to try to make its triumph is made sweeter by confirmation of its rectitude. It knows that it alone knows you. It alone remembers your mother's mother's grasping immigrant bewildered stroke-filled slide-to-the-grave you wiped from your adolescent American feet. Your hick purer-than-thou overreaching veiling mediocrity. Understand that you can delude others but not what you more and more now call the beast within you. Understand the cloak that maimed each gave each power. Understand that there is a beast within you that can drink till it is sick, but cannot drink till it is satisfied. Understand that it will use the conventions of the visible world to turn your tongue to stone. It alone knows you. It does not wish you well. These are instructions for the wrangler. From Volume 185, Number 1, October 2004 Copyright © The Poetry Foundation |