After Blake I wanted to see his tree full of angels, To follow him outside, To find the edge of the curtain, To pull it back and watch the dancers Rehearsing – faces filled with Beautiful concentration – On the joining of bones, on the smooth Perfect fit in the socket, The miracle of the hip, the ankle, The delicate swiveling wrist – No, I am the only one Thinking of bones! Behind their closed eyes Is only music –
This poem now also available to watch right here, and a visual version of the text here.
