BUILDING LABYRINTHS

BUILDING LABYRINTHS

The hotel seemed overly beautiful

In the Winter.  Driving into the place

The white rabbits in the white snow

Made it magical.  The sun was

So bright it was almost impossible

To tell when the road ended and 

The building began.

*

From the high cliffs the ocean hardly

Had a voice.  It was long and measured

With automobiles far below moving

Like notes on a score played by

The afternoon.  A hawk hung in the air

Searching as we were searching.  Something

Like this should never be lost.

The children had made a little parade

In the street.  They carried sticks and

Sang songs they made up from what

They saw as they paraded.  There were

Sounds that joined them from so far away

Only memories could come close to them.

They faded into the heat of the day

Almost as if they had never been there.

I had built a labyrinth that occupied

Most of the lands between the mountains

And the river Gill.  I had thought it would

Be an interesting task, but my life had

Become caught in it and I had

Put so many mirrors in the place

That the days got lost in it.

Now I can only recall fragments of my own

Dreams, but they are inexhaustible in

Their variety; full of animals of all kinds,

Full of ancient languages of which

Only shards of knowledge can 

Be obtained.

I find myself there as some other being,

A poet at times,  I had a nightingale 

I called Virgil.  I worked assiduously

To find things to do.  Dreams were created

Despite the greatness of the odds.

Finally everything came down to this.

I know its light perfectly.  I handled

It with the care Milton took with

His writing.  I became able to show

You parts of its precious hours.