Monday, January 9, 2012
Our veins are open to shadow, and our fingertips
Porous to murder. It's only the inattention
Of the prosecutors that lets us go to lunch.
Reading my old letters I notice a secret will.
It's as if another person had planned my life.
Even in the dark, someone is hitching the horses.
That doesn't mean I have done things well.
I have found so many ways to disgrace
Myself, and throw a dark cloth over my head.
Why is it our fault if we fall into desire?
The eel poking his head from his undersea cave
Entices the tiny soul falling out of Heaven.
So many invisible angels work to keep
Us from drowning; so many hands reach
Down to pull the swimmer from the water.
Even though the District Attorney keeps me
Well in mind, grace allows me sometimes
To slip into the Alhambra by night.
~ Robert Bly
from The Night Abraham Called to the Stars: Poems