I was a hobbit
you were an elf
we made love
in Vondel Park.
***
The dream yellow and
little hidden
in the inner low bowl
and most recesses
of what is opening
into cosmic night.
Psyche
was there, was consciousness, a door
Psyche
who will secret the soul
(Eleni's bored, uh-oh)
Don't stop
Just keep the green birds in the air. Where?
The dream
is verifiable or tenable
I am pursuing and therefore
I must content
with the fact that means something:
patient.
Is this going to be a poem about Philip Whalen?
Who is Philip Whalen?
Undulating layers of
unsaying
The undercurrent is love
The current of love...
Transfer those electrons to him.
Illusion birds in Amsterdam
where love rules
there is no will to power
and where power predominates
love is lacking
the one is the shadow of the other.
I am thinking of a man
his sole purpose
is to kindle a light
in the darkness
by mere being.
In sleep, fantasy
the form of dream
but in waking life
we continue.
On the other hand
I know that if
on a dream we
meditate and thoroughly
discern around us
over and over the human existence
it is a hint to the patient.
[Prelude to the letter C]