What stayed, was the wish to praise
In a causeless occasion.
The wasp in the throughshine, by the unreal window,
Above scarabs, in the termite’s detonation,
Snored on the blind glaze, brightened a shard,
And opened the hallowing summer of its pulses.
He saw the blessed hem close on the approaching sandal,
The bland linen scrolled with a double vector,
The lance, the sponge,
The big hands in the harp’s transparencies,
Tensing the sling-stone, with the knuckles starred,
The lifeline pierced with the suppliant’s fingernail —
The vexed head in its armory –
And under the crown’s weight, the stone’s three distances:
Absolom, Jonathan, Saul.
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