the gods xvii by Donald Kuspit
the gods howled,
alone at last,
with the birds,
shedding their wings
like leaves
yet gaining height
with every loss.
circling together
in an aura of wind,
suddenly mingling
in the inevitable wonder
outpacing mind,
reaching where words fail,
limited by lasting silence
piercing
to the quick of time.
so we flew pierced
by light,
reaching the depths
of darkness
to recover our senses
in the immediate,
racing in the current
of clouds
idealizing our nakedness,
until we too outpaced
time with our intimacy,
and contentment.
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