Dezembrum

I

Tonight there are only the winter stars.
The sky is no longer a junk-shop,
Full of javelins and old fire-balls,
Triangles and the names of girls.

II

Over and over again you have said,
This great world, it divides itself in two,
One part is man, the other god:
Imagined man, the monkish mask, the face.

III

Tonight the stars are like a crowd of faces
Moving round the sky and singing
And laughing, a crowd of men,
Whose singing is a mode of laughter,

IV

Never angels, nothing of the dead,
Faces to people night’s brilliancy,
Laughing and singing and being happy,
Filling the imagination’s need.

V

In this rigid room, an intenser love,
Not toys, not thing-a-ma-jigs-
The reason can give nothing at all
Like the response to desire.