Being Beauteous

In front of the snow stands a tall Beauteous Being.

The hissing of death and circles of muffled music

make this adored body climb, expand, and tremble:

black and scarlet wounds

burst in the superb flesh.

The proper colors of life darken, dance,

and give off around the vision, upon the yard.

And the shudders rise and fall, and

the maniacal flavor of these effects being charged

with the mortal hissing and raucous music

that the world, well behind us, hurls on our

mother of beauty - she withdraws, she stands up. O!

Our bones are dressed once more in a new amorous body.

O ashen face, with shield of hair, and arms of

crystal! The cannon on which I must throw myself down,

amid the scuffle of trees and the light breeze!