(a trifle)

I do not want escape.
I want den-warmth of lions and our antlers crossed
Like Greeks with tridents fighting in the surf;
I want my blood to pump until it turns to gold
And silverquick at once. I want
To feel the sweet low tug of Venus and the high
Broad jovial exuberance of kings when giving gifts;
I want to lay down in that swaddling cloth
Among the aloes, watch
From down with Plato, and his waiting peers,
The stone, that circle stone, be rolled away;
And Life Himself come running out a giant, clad
In suns and quantum clouds and life, life, life;
The tomb behind him like a cornucopia that spills
Us endless joy.
I do not want escape.
I want to pour sun-rivers through the stables, watch
Our Hercules complete his labour, taste
His feast, the one He paid so dearly for.