The Last Coming
And Yeats knew, through faculty
Of his mind, that the First Coming of Christ
Lost its centre to stony nightmare.
And what if Yeats knew, through occult contact
With the spirit world, that The Second Coming
of Christ was vivifying disaster of Biblical proportion?
And the Queen rides the sea in her yacht
Given her as her charms bestrode the King
Whom she mounts at her pleasure.
And the Queen commands the crew
To turn the yacht in a gyre which draws cold waters into warm
And her dizziness pleases the King.
And the sea in a black tide stirs
With swells rocking the lullaby
And the fish sleeps like a lion—growing hungry.
And the Queen with fetching breast,
Proud of lure, sunken where she ought to have a heart,
Charms the crew as they drop their due for her approval.
And the Queen bestrewing favors
Betrays her birth
While bracing up her breast.
And the fish wobbles on the bottom
Waiting to be born
To see what it shall be upon its time.
And the Queen sails like a queen
Leaving behind disturbed waters which mount to storm
Which the King scolds while glancing a Princess.
And the fish wakes
Finding food long hidden
Bequeathed with Spiritus Oceanus.
And the fish swims
Scattering all but those minnows seeking refuge in her mouth
And the albatross sweeps the Queen’s yacht.
And the Queen sits a legend in denial
Of all that soars and swoops above
Yet is anxious of ubiquity underneath.
And the Queen’s yacht dips its prow
To the fright of the crew
From an unexpected swell under stern.
And minnows touch fins
Of many colors, shapes, and scrapes,
Immersed in a song of many colors, too.
And the Queen rises in unqueenly dismay
To throw a spear at the shadow that stalks from below
And the King thinks thoughts of his own.
And minnows school in their living home
As fireflies in bubbles glow and groupers waggle on patrol
And they bump as the fish breaks the hull.
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