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Pandemonkium.

"To me alone, alone, is giv'n the Key
Of Love; of whose whole Mystery possesst,
When I reveal a little to the Rest,
Forthwith Creation listening forsakes
The Reins of Reason, and my Frenzy takes..."

--FitzGerald's Attar

"You who never arrived..."

"Cape Wrath

Not wrath as in rage, · but as reefing ships
from Viking hvarf, · a veering of sails
where turning tiderunners · tracked southerly
toward the lush lowlands, · allure of pastures.
Aiming-point, then, · intersection
maps are made from; · meeting of sea-paths
where gannet-strike · and stiff-winged gull
attempt the turbulence, · tracing white wakes
between kyle and keel, · cloud and breaker.

Nearby, the blunt, · abrupt cliff-falls
Define a finish, · failure of land-mass:
Insult to isobars · and Iceland's tundra
the hurt behind · of the high ness offers
a bare buttock · to the barren Atlantic,
gained from glaciers · to what good purpose?
This neb remains, · a node with its geos,
guillemots and seals, · its migrating flocks
whose vagrant convenience · these voes accommodate
indifferently on the dull edge · of the hour-glass.

One assumes easily, · searching guide-books,
some more spectacular spot · – spout, rainbow, crag
limitlessly colluding · down the long approach;
stacks striding ashore; · a stave in the weather
or whale-song’s witness; · wheel of sky-talons.
Instead, one stands · at an austerer somewhere:
an end leading East, · angles implying West
afford the furniture · of a flat summit,
a light-house lost · to its unlucky prospect.

Appropriate, perhaps, · that places one steers to,
orients of arrival, · don’t relish the intrusion
withdraw to a distance · where days are smaller,
views less violent, · less vivid the sunscapes:
the word here for humans · is too hard to compass.
And whatever they own · absolutely
eyes make out ill, · ail the inheritance;
no one can seize completely · the seen locale.

Turn away troubled, · reattempt the route,
pricked by disappointment, · by prehistory.
This meaningful wharf · was meant for others
earlier and more avid, · more energetic
whose justified journeys · joined to an ocean
whose bounds were unbroken, · whose bearings real,
whose atlas included · no anti-climax."

--Chris McCully in Withowinde 95, pp. 6-7, December, 1992

Absences.