Involutions

When the last flower blows in the first seed

Carried away by the thought of a wind

When the first concept fills the last deed

Shews us the longest way we have sinned

The last step is the mountain’s measure

Trod deep in the long flat face of Fraud

And the pain’s gasp, the length of pleasure

In the Saint’s wounds—the soul of a Bawd.

With the last chains, forge the first freedom

Renunciation’s claim on the lover

The last King of a crucified kingdom

Destroying himself to find his brother.