We all
(it is our nature)
must select an icon,
and subject ourselves to it
(the golden Phoebus,
a shaggy Dionysus) ,
for Images
to the Imagination
unveil our secret selves
reveal the hidden real,
our vision
of what we should be,
and know
we never will.
Read the portrait,
compose yourselves.
Read and write
to know it well
(St. John's apocalypse,
the Gospel of Mary Magdalene,
the David,
the Pieta,
Paracelsus, tria prima,
Jacob Boehme, his Aurora,
someone, the Sun,
some darkling Star) ,
too close, too close,
too far.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem