Shimer College - Acropolis Yearbook (Mount Carroll, IL)

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I left the hollow of the dreaming place Followed by my turning voices And we returned to colonnades Where Afternoon suffused herself Through pendant prisms of our knowing. The voice of the altar, the beat of the wing Could be heard now in the music that we made. In the catechistic chanting of each word The two became combined into one chord. We etched the edges of ourselves With knowledgeable fingers, We spoke the muteness of our past On silver flutes, We exorcised the unknown on the Iyre We broke the rhythm of the wheel with tambourines There, then, on the palpitating pall of my drum The face shone gold without a shadow And the question and the answer Glistened back in all my features. Insubstantial as incense, Piercing as the flame-cry of a bird Is this moment of discovery, This moment in which the altar's Self-adulation closes to a close. It is the last pouring, The final wingbeat, The beginning of the self-spun wheel.