The Prince of Hell was wearing a crown of thorns,
And the fruits of the tree had similarly fallen, ripe and round and ready,
Upon the fertile soil of an Eden in sublime abandon,
And Lucifer’s heart, hollow by day,
Had drunk deeply of the dusk light
In a world upon which the sun never set,
But now, as night bled into day,
He wondered how to strike his devil’s bargain with the unmerciful clock,
Contemplated why so many philosophers
Had wondered how many angels can dance upon the head of a pin,
When it was so clear to him
That he was the only one who would ever be made to do so;
“The Devil made me do it,”
He’d say, delirious,
As another night passed,
Look like the sea of my dreams,
They are the rough waters
Into which I have fallen,
And these November currents
Are as brutal as they come.
They are fragments
Of a different life,
The one I’d thought I’d live,
The one that came and went
As swiftly as Lucifer did,
His chains swinging, singing as they fell,
And Him –
Weeping, not for himself,
But for mankind.
They are the fault lines
Upon which my city is built,
The fractalized wooden sentinels
That stand in lieu of worshippers
Within the House of the Savior
After it’s abandonment
Some time long and long ago.
Modeled from Jane Hirshfield’s ‘Pebbles,’ from her collection The Beauty. I adore her work and mean no infringement through my emulation of her poem.
The disloyalty of Lucifer,
The Fall of Man,
And Paradise Lost;
All in the same still-life of a half-eaten fruit.
I remember you.