521 and 522

For H

None get as bright as you without the flame.

No warmth comes save you’ve been in want of it.

I know, for I have known this cold the same,

and been, by the same brash furnaces, bit.

Your cost is great, but wide you share your spoils,

and wide, too, shines your beacon--great and trim.

You’ve not been overcome by your own toils,

but wend your goodwills with an easy whim.

But I know it is no mere whim for you.

I say, you hide it well—the cross you bear.

Take heart for what you even now wade through—

I will, this weight for Atlas, with you, share.

For I’ve my own indeed. But it is light

if you are by my side, and in my sight.

~~~

The call of the crisp Night! To heed him true,

and walk by all the whims that he will tell—

to let his cool veil cover over you

whilst wandering twixt sorcery and spell—

this must be the best form of reverie.

For Day’s warm songs distract from what you seek:

to be the form of sweet skullduggery—

the eyes, benign, betwixt shadows that creak.

And nights as this one, cold, but not too so,

who grin their welcome when you get the door,

who say “come out! There’s things you ought to know

that only live when our waves wash ashore!”

If bold you be, you take this proffered flight,

and heed the haunting call of the crisp Night!