The Descent

The descent beckons

              as the ascent beckoned.                 

                               Memory is a kind     

of accomplishment,                         

              a sort of renewal

                               even

an initiation, since the spaces it opens are new places

              inhabited by hordes

                               heretofore unrealized,

of new kinds—

              since their movements

                               are toward new objectives

(even though formerly they were abandoned).

No defeat is made up entirely of defeat—since

the world it opens is always a place

              formerly

                               unsuspected. A

world lost,

              a world unsuspected,

                               beckons to new places

and no whiteness (lost) is so white as the memory

of whiteness     .

With evening, love wakens

              though its shadows

                               which are alive by reason

of the sun shining—

              grow sleepy now and drop away

                               from desire     .

Love without shadows stirs now

              beginning to awaken

                               as night

advances.

The descent

              made up of despairs

                               and without accomplishment

realizes a new awakening:

                               which is a reversal

of despair.

              For what we cannot accomplish, what

is denied to love,

              what we have lost in the anticipation—

                               a descent follows,

endless and indestructible     .