ONCE MORE IN PROPHET VISION

Once more in prophet vision night comes strange words whispering,

which rustling trees, a thousand tongues above us are echoing:

as though o’er mirrors magical drawn to still waters, while

a thousand eyes reflecting shine like an ethereal smile.

On the black leas with tears that are like seeds of radiance planted

our courtly maidens dream of sisters for their sins enchanted,

by caring hand of angels dressed in penitential raiment

and in their lonely anguish held by jealous sun’s containment.

Jutting towns, rampart ruins on bare island promontories,

moths branded with the death’s head sign soar in all cemeteries:

with fragrant nectar fountains music plays in blooms refined

and in blood heady mystery ripens like in grapes the wine.

Grant that my brothers in their hope-filled wedding beds sleep sweetly

and sweeter dreams grant to the shipwrecked, washed ashore completely:

in their dreams hear night murmur in a tongue beyond known notion,

that at a mile a minute we are falling in light’s ocean.