Here, in the golden haze of the late slant sun,
Let us walk, with the light in our eyes,
To a single bench from the outset predetermined.
Look: there are seagulls in these city skies,
Kindled against the blue.
But I do not think of the seagulls, I think of you.

Your eyes, with the late sun in them,
Are like blue pools dazzled with yellow petals.
This pale green suits them well.
Here is your finger, with an emerald on it:
The one I gave you. I say these things politely–
But what I think beneath them, who can tell?

from “Red Is the Color of Blood” Conrad Aiken

image: Vertigo (1958, Alfred Hitchcock)

They flee from me that sometime did me seek
With naked foot stalking in my chamber.
I have seen them gentle tame and meek
That now are wild and do not remember…

from “They Flee from Me” Thomas Wyatt

During the final moments of this masterwork a sacred phrase is sung, yet remains rarely understood to this day. 
Those who know these words and recognize their import are numbered among the elect in a secret society. Few of us have ever met or spoken, but we dwell in a house together, and we understand our duty to share the signs and wonders.
To whom much is given much is expected.

Twilights that are deathless
I walk in my garden,
Knowing that I die.
The great iron idols
Are dark and breathless
And stand a little higher
When I walk straight by…

…Twilights that are deathless,
With a body that dies,
I walk in my garden
Higher than the sun.
Beautiful flowers there:
I pick none.

Excerpts from  “The City Takes a Woman”   Kenneth Fearing

We’re gonna need a bigger abyss.