|
A Messenger from the Horizon
Look, a naked runner A messenger, Following the wind From budding hills.
By sweet sunstroke Wounded and signed, (He is therefore sacred) Silence is his way.
Rain is his own Most private weather. Amazement is his star.
O stranger, Our early hope Flies fast by, A mute comet, an empty sun. Adam is his name!
O primeval angel Virgin brother of astonishment, Born of one word, one bare Inquisitive diamond.
O blessed, Invulnerable cry, O unplanned Saturday, O lucky father!
Come without warning A friend of hurricanes, Lightning in your bones! We will open to you The sun-door, the noble eye!
Open to rain, to somersaulting air, To everything that swims, To skies that wake, Flare and applaud.
(It is too late, he flies the other way Wrapping his honesty in rain.)
---
Pardon all runners, All speechless, alien winds, All mad waters.
Pardon their impulses, Their wild attitudes, Their young flights, their reticence.
When a message has no clothes on How can it be spoken.
|