Apotheosis

I flew out in a spiral, orbiting, upward.
Smeared out towards the hills to the south,
As I passed, a silhouette drifting along a beach
Looked up from his whimsical discontent
By the peach-tinted sea, textured by a smouldering sky
To observe that the all the world seemed to lingeringly gesture towards the lady.
The clouds were smudged towards the top of the arc of the sky -
Where the throne is -
And then I was pulled west, to where a disseminating leaks out
In all directions, up and away. He is a walker too.
(The ones my eye picks out cannot seem to be still)
He fights out of his body - it does its utmost to lull him to a bed,
And make him soak into a puddle and stop,
But he won’t be a puddle - aspires to a gas.
The onset of night occurs in space, not time, outside his window,
And it darkens as it reaches the place where -
To the north and east now. I cannot match the lady’s gaze
Until a scratch myself free of all these mouldy rags.
I scour through the branches. Each tear and snag is a release.
My fever drags me. The branches seemed inhuman, spreading out at every angle,
But this is wrong. They are like people, Growing only polar ways. Down,
Towards an outline, walking, effervescent. The world laps up against her.
She is a bay in nature - her eyes glow, and make you forget the question
That you had to ask. Other branches up, or course -
I have left my shape amongst the shadows in the north, tangled in the trees.
What I lost is wound around them. Now I am in the centre of the gyre.
Upon their backs, upon a hill, gazing straight up, through me,
Immune to the indignity and fire of a smouldering sky,
These poets I have seen, two of them converge,
Its amber fire becomes their entertainment.
The blazing hidden question is forgotten,
And the sky cannot perform its purpose.
No, now he is a bowl, with a question behind it, that I went to ask the moon.
The couple see my lady through me, and ignore the substance of the sky’s display.
No wonder those two figures, cheek to cheek despite the cold,
Look, but pay him no attention. Now he becomes a fool.
He would be emptiness, seeped light blue, not some
Course florid display. Their indifference increases
His anger, and so the flames grow in intensity.
To them, it is a florid, powerless display.
And all his anger
Fails to touch my lady.
The thunderer increases.
Then later, he is gone, beneath the city
Without a sound. Then the lady shines.
The watching couple shift their eyes straight up.
The bowl, naked, indecent, stops lying.
There is nothing after the little fashions and distractions people roll the earth in.
In this truth, my lady finally shines.
Above the city, the haze and smog hide her competition.
She is the only thing in the night sky, here.
The question is as transparent as I am.
I would be falling if she wasn’t there for me to catch.
A traffic island. Noise falls in all directions all around.