Attend the Near Heaven

The more pleasant sky shall surrender, a fierceness of crimson and ire. There, at the beach, is a crater, and deep in the crater, a fire. The flame is a thing of twelve voices. The voices are wounds in the sky. The twelve are the seasons of choices. In their song is the form of my eye. Never again have I wondered, and never again will I lie. No more the dear light of my seeing, forever, and all we deny. They spin — oh bright jewels an’ they wander, across a fine table unseen. The mote in god’s eye is my thunder, the bliss of her ghost is my dream. The more pleasant sky shall surrender; a fierceness of crimson and ire. There, at the beach, there’s a crater, and deep in the crater, a fire. In the fire my daughters are seven, and in their fine dance is a door. Five creatures attend the near heaven, all evil and lies they deplore.