my Beloved
comes
sailing
with all,
that has not yet
been seen,
never yet sensed –
the sight
of my Beloved’s foot
makes me
superfluous with agitation –
now the landing
is made, the gangway tightened
to flourish under my
Beloved’s foot, all
the dreadful, that
which every
soul would recognize
as itself in
the grandeur of gods – |
a red dust
I flap faster
than all
the new’s triumph-express,
I am easily carried
less noticeable than my
Beloved’s
all-relieving landing-foot –
The Banner of the
Last Realm is planted
trembling through the heart
of the world –
NOW
my Beloved would
see me –
to dust become,
to see This,
I aim faster
than all
colourless
without eyes
without fire,
to light my
Beloved’s commands
on another moon,
whose heart still
gasps,
yet, YET! |
find me
seek me
Beloved –!
or I hate,
hate you like the superfluous
paradise of
victory –
find me
seek me
me the dust,
made of nothing
into everything –
Beloved, shall
I hate you to
less than
dust –?
listen:
there is no
victory!!