Listen to Rachmaninov’s cascading concertos,
to the majestic meander of Yes’ “Awaken” —
follow these melodies as they set forth
beginning to end, an evolution always reverting
back to the first breathing fingertips upon keys.
Now: an epithet. Come to it as an agalma.
It is sheet music — syllables and stresses.
It is speech coiled together — dimensioned tight.
Like a pianist, like a lyre-player, peel back
its layers with curiosity until the adytumed God
becomes the conductor of your drumming tongue
and webs of signs trace out from this threshold.
Do not stray far to gaze at those, to break upon
the worlds scattered verses like vase-shards.
The baton of the God’s gaze will guide each image —
this is your refuge from scattering dissonance.
When the traces thicken your thoughts resonant,
cut pen-nib into page like a knife flowing forth
sacrificial blood on an altar’s heavy surface.
This is a hymn, its meter wrapped in glistening image-fat,
its recitation the nourishment your mind devours
to constitute itself an image of the God you love.
KALLISTI 