1.618034

(from an equation my father left behind)

by CK Baker

 

I have offered up my lamentations

out of the dust of Eden

and painted them into the night.

 

I have trodden stars underfoot

and crushed them

into the wine of singularities.

 

(so my younger self told me in a dream,

reaching forward in the temporal

as I now enter the embrace of the world

and age into my slavery)

 

I'd pay good money to hear

what yours told you.

 

Shall we build a fire then, in this desolation,

and brand me with the aspect of shadow?

How shall we brand you?

 

If Pride were ground into powder,

I suspect it could then be an anointing

upon this corruption;

perhaps even an atonement-

simple enough, yes?

 

Enough.

 

Show me then-

come, show me,

while there is still some serenity;

let us examine your engines of the dark

and the nightmare-fuel within.

 

(are you watching closely?

energy equals matter

times the speed of light squared)

 

Drift you now to the far shores,

sleep, and dream,

drift with your own permission-

for a song of this magnitude radiant

shall fly only to constellations;

was meant only for the season of sowing.

 

Do you not see how alive you are?

And do we have an according then, you & I?

 

For as I see all hands open

in these songs of light and dark,

and music woven out of silence cleansed

in the cloudwalk ascendant,

purified in the cosmotic night,

washed in the blood of the earth;

so do I see you dare to direct your gaze

up.

 

Now

take my lantern

and I'll hold your hymns-

 

say it's a good trade.

(it's a good trade)

 

Behold then:

the field opening verdant in its laughter,

bathed in blossomscent,

how even the black dirt and red clay

sing under the sun

in their rushing to meet the mountains;

 

for winter will come again,

and still all will sing,

still all will sing.

 

Come,

for the river is deep, and wide;

the water clear, and cool.

I tell you my grace and yours

was bartered between us in these bending waves of wildwheat.

 

Have you forgotten?

This is an accord, in fact,

with the song aureate in all things.

 

I know you can hear it.

 

The dark washes off so easily,

so easily, my love,

so easily.

 

There was an old father in the desert,

a long time ago,

(have you heard this one?)

who stretched his hands toward heaven,

and told his disciple

as his fingers turned to dancing fire,

 

“If you will,

you can become all flame.”