On Los
Found
A poem left
As left by eyes
Under glasses as they rise
And fall back...
On Los
Superb
Found night conditioned
As if shut
Yet opened by Los
Itself,
As if by that lampshade
Music silvery
Whispered
As if this time is the time
To create a dream,
To find meaning
Of everything...
By just
Being Glad...
There will be times
More
To open living all doors...
For the good times
To open leaving all doors unopened
To open up to luxurious a repose...
On Los,
Like Blake...
Impelling...
A song,
A dream,
A meaning,
A rest.
(Note: on W. Blake and his theory/myth of Los, inspired,)
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