Asphalt, black and hard
Tenacious blade of grass breaks
Victoriously
flake by flake it falls
in cold, dead silence, piling
the roof collapses
corner spider weaves
in musty, yeasty cellar
a barrel's cork pops
Seeing they do not perceive, Hearing they do not understand, Who will leave and take the man (who will bruise the snake again) and who will undertake the task of sacred oaths, secret crypts? O heaven, make of dew our coats! We dive therefore into the well, The deeper hell. Our roots will grow, Through salt and blood; Lord knows what else... Who can tell? None! without perceiving; Less who hear confused; The world ever receding-- The snow of heaven melting, Giving tears of salt and blood, Puts out the useless fire, And damns the adder's brood.
O little fly, walk gently; Tread gently where you go. Your little friend you stand upon Did not tread gently so... The bowl of sour wine Whose fragrance drew you nigh Drew also near your little friend Who now also keeps you dry. But be careful, lest the raft of love Might totter, roll, or sink, For then the fly that comes behind you Would use you to place his feet.
