The eternal son runs to the mother
|
She smoothes his brow and bids him
|
Drink from her well of hammered mist
|
Too long sweet lad, fog rises from the ground
|
The falling soot is just the dust of a shimmering gem
|
The black moon shines on a lake
|
White as a hand in the dark
|
She lifts the lamp to see his face
|
The silver ladle of his throat
|
The boy, the beast, and the butterfly.
|
|
The sea is a morgue, the sea is a morgue, the needle and the gun
|
These things float in blood that has no name
|
The telegraph poles are crosses on the line
|
Rusted pins, not enough saviours to hang
|
She blesses the road, the robe and the road and the noose of vine
|
And waits beneath the triangle
|
Formed by Mercury, an evening star
|
The fifth planet with its blistering sore
|
And the soaring eagle above and to the west
|
The boy, the beast and the butterfly.
|
|
She walks across a bridge of magpies
|
Her hollow tongue fills the brightness with water
|
And in the wink of an eye
|
One planet with a glittering womb
|
One white crow one diamond head
|
Big as a world, big as a world
|
The boy, the beast, the butterfly
|
Hovering
|
Above the sore, the blistering sore
|
of the fifth planet
|
Wait, stop, don't forget, don't forget,
|
How I played with you
|
How I kissed away your tears
|
Don't forget
|
The white mouth of the son smiles
|
this beautiful tunnel, a seed, a flight.
|
|
-----------------
|
Tarkovsky (The Second Stop Is Jupiter)
|
| Patti Smith |
