  Master of earnest equilibrium, You are a Christ made delicate By centuries of baffled meditation. You curve an old myth to a peaceful sword, Like some sleep-walker challenging The dream that gave him shape. With gentle, antique insistence You place your child’s hand on the universe And trace a smile of love within its depths. And yet, the whirling scarecrow men have made Of something that eludes their sight, May have the startling simplicity of your smile. Once every thousand years Stillness fades into a shape That men may crucify. |
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