Page 34 - WTp Vol. VII #9

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Shadow Canticle
Not a thing, not a place, not a character.
No excuse, no service, no destiny.
Not a playground, not a temple, not a book. No narrative, no ode, no elegy.
Not a figure, not a number, not a name. No factor, no dividend, no archive.
Not a clock, not a festival, not a barrier. No parliament, no gallery, no tabernacle.
Not a guess, good or bad, nor a pilgrimage. Not a spectrum or gradient, nor an arc.
No providence and surely no equipment.
No daydream of delicious flesh, no information.
Not a song, although a song comes close.
Not the naked light, nor the measure of virtue.
Not an ocean of accidents, movements, reprimands. Not a correction, nor a key. No fulcrum. No field.
Not a signature, not a map, not a mark or marker. No conjecture, no delusion, no possession.
No weapon, no container, no design.
No witness, no contrivance, no security.
O pure Unknowable, I praise the only way I can.
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