the Labirinth

The Labyrinth I

Zeus himself could not undo the web
of stone closing around me.
 I have forgotten
the men I was before; I follow the hated
path of monotonous walls
that is my destiny.
 Severe galleries
which curve in secret circles
to the end of the years.
 Parapets
cracked by the days' usury.

In the pale dust I have discerned
signs that frighten me.
 In the concave
evenings the air has carried a roar
toward me, or the echo of a desolate howl.

I know there is an Other in the shadows,
whose fate it is to wear out the long solitudes
which weave and unweave this Hades
and to long for my blood and devour my death.

Each of us seeks the other.
 If only this
were the final day of waiting.







The Labyrinth  II
There’ll never be a door.
 You’re inside
and the keep encompasses the world
and has neither obverse nor reverse
nor circling wall nor secret center.

Hope not that the straitness of your path
that stubbornly branches off in two,
and stubbornly branches off in two,
will have an end.
 Your fate is ironbound,
as if your judge.
 Forget the onslaught
of the bull that is a man and whose
strange and plural form haunts the tangle
of unending interwoven stone.

He does not exist.
 In the black dusk
hope not even for the savage beast.

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