Meet me halfway there among future’s strings
Where path red turns gold, all the sprinkling swings
Of winds push so bold onto the next thing:
Carved lions and flowers ready to devour
All the living doubt that dreams don’t come true.
See an angel there, steady and prepared
In black suit to match, grounds to celebrate
For all’s old as new yet this patch of light
Stays in the clear way of revealing aches;
Lady dressed in white turns every dull head.
Care for a short walk, I’d care to speak well
Even in a heartbeat and three taken breaths,
Since humble eyes saw you, there’s no art out there
Down this planet’s surface, be gentle to me;
Of course, I confess, mutter a sly yes.
On ash-labyrinths, we have lost ourselves
Crossed-chest, hyacinth, on this charcoal hell
Two’s better than one almost all the time
Dare I call this young thing everlasting mine?
Roots are grown in clovers, let’s go for a flight.
Source: The Farewell of Telemachus and Eucharis by Jacques-Louis David, 1818