The Ghent Review Volume1, Number 1, summer 2016 | Page 42

-I have made the observance but no longer do so
-Other rituals perhaps…
-Let us say I believe in a word’s incarnation
-That’s merely a mannerism
-Yet it is affirmed
-In the flesh sir, in the flesh
-Disputable I think
-And in that is your satisfaction?
-No, in that is my dilemma

His seedy words. His doctrines.
Yet if the self not incarnate the word…
What will this day incarnate? Some compatible form? Some paradox only a
living faith might resolve?
He would say day is night’s grandeur revealed but on what revelation may I
lay down my obedience?
In the noise of day Homer’s music resides.
Audible day and this my aubade. I will make no broken music. Mine to be
the sonnet in stone as in those cursive manuscripts. Hail morning! I greet
you thus. Lips to the flute, hand to the hand-drum – let there be new
rhythms. Word incarnate in the bell of a sound. Gull’s cry or child voice.
And I will tell of the trembling. As no other has known it so shall it be. Word
upon which and from which..Bell’s treble also. Sea-surf in some soft
curving.
As it was in the..