It's the shimmer of an ineffable beam,
it's the baffling way the measure seems,
it's the difficult textures of the form
that charge me to make daring claims
for the dignity of a dazzling prism.
Red memories deliver the loud alarm,
bitter thoughts render a low doom,
tender visions ornament the vast dome
whirling about us in foolish rhythm.
If slumber brings me a poignant arm
while the creeping luminaries roam
the vault of sky obscured by storms,
I shall choose to hold my faith firm.
It's the glitter of an ephemeral moon,
it's the fleeting rose finally in bloom,
it's the perfect and enduring kingdom
that inspires me to grasp the steam
wandering between tulips who squirm.
To recognize the overwhelming swarm
of paralyzing spirit and the easy slam
of beautiful truth only just proclaimed
between the syllables of a poor poem,
then remember the calm, whimsical hum
of the indescribable and holy freedom
affirmed by a voice across the chasm
of our unspeakably sublime dream.