The New Cave
Full moon lies in the western wood, gold rock;
All night it gleamed, above, embracing mice.
Now, this still stone is frozen, in the window pane.
Dali's hand holds the sky, the trees, the moon.
Water soon will trickle down sharp spears;
Drops of sun will fall like beads to earth,
To the snow; bold blue sky will wrap all.
The icicles will gleam like thin jewels.
Highway signs read, "Bridges Freeze First!"
Are icicles glass bridges to the hearts of men?
Are we even yet in a cave, seeking truth?
Ask Plato, perhaps he knows, still, still …
He always sought the sun that gave the shadows
Life; but Dante searched inside the rock,
And saw how deep within that cave of ice,
Mentre che la speranza ha fior del verde.†
†La Divina Commedia, Purgatorio, III: "As long as hope hath still a speck of green."
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