Fourth step: major third

Behind the veil of reverence

smiles justice. She sees everything

without ever being seen, sword

in hand, a steady grip.

Two men bow before her,

a grain of salt on her golden scale,

a grain of sand, four half-steps from

her blade to their necks.

"Hereby I seal your promise 

to remember, with blood. A promise then,

now an oath. As the beginning, so the end. 

Punishment you shall have, payment in advance!"

The sword comes down, a steady grip,

runs through the necks and clangs

against the block. The sound travels like pain

from their heads to their toes and out in the world.

Imperfect consonance, a wickedness in the cut,

the blood has marked the field. Justice made

two headless knights and she made them thus:

major third, going down.

take in the sights, mess around on the L line, be afraid of time,

sleep in, sleep with our heads on the balcony floor and our bodies in the room,

wake up with frozen noses, be glad to wake up,

sleep too little or not at all, drink all the jardin bleu of the country,

make you old, make me young, meet in the middle, 

lie through the teeth to everyone we see,

learn new words like "tu me fais perdre mes moyens",

teach new words like "du verdrehst mir den Kopf" ,

hold hands, forget the world, forget to care,

maybe be seen, maybe get caught,

come together, then part, first light, then dark,

act tough, put on a mask, wipe the tears, stiff upper lip,

on se reverra, then regret, worry more, reviens vers moi, s'il te plaît,

melt my heart, poor little scarecrow, how could I not,

ich finde dich wieder,

forget-me-not, worry-not,

the sun rises and sets and rises again, lanky bird

so busy looking at you, I shot the entire roll out of focus

 Third step: minor third

Day after day it is winter still. The mud is cold,

cracks with the steps. Behind each heavy leaf there is 

yet another one. The trudge is not a test

it is the only way.

"I want to tell you everything," the hermit said,

"I want to talk until you learn

my heart by heart."

Day after day it is winter still. The air is glass,

shatters when touched. The trees appear like waves 

that froze in time. This forest has no path,

this valley is too deep for light to reach.

The hanged man, his rope a rosary, his turn 

to pray. "There is in me, amidst it all, something holy.

But it is impossible to find in the dark.

Look for it in my blood, please, god."

Day after day it is winter still. The sun is far,

the nights long, the streams trapped in ice.

There is enough savagery in the world.

The first little saffron shoots came through the snow,

tore through it like spears and on its corpse

they'll bloom. "You need no light. This is an altar

where you'll place your offering. Love is loss.

It is pilgrimage." Thus spoke god.

In impenetrable gloom the disciples

kneeled under the burden. The altar creaked. 

Minor third, looking down

going up, losing hope and finding it.

Second step: perfect fourth

Hidden in the smallest of hours

where no god's big hand can reach

an evil witch under a drape of lead

is laying down the cards

the future appears drop by drop

like beads of sweat on a forehead I touched once

"The future, the present and the past," roars the witch, "are a shadow that's cast."

Released by night's soft grasp

the hermit's face emerged a darker dark

his tight hermit's mouth whispered forbidden words

his bony hermit's hand reached for another man

his tired hermit's eyes closed shut.

It was a ritual, the summoning of a ghost

leaves rustled, branches creaked, birds took flight

and there he was, the hanged man, on his feet

holding his rope as if it were a tail

the evil witch drew her last

"The tower is change", she said, while melting into fog, 

"Lightning strikes, time is flame, nothing stays.

And Only love and death change all things*. 

I played my best hand, 

for they are a perfect fit, the hermit and the hanged man.

Now jump, go ahead. Let me rest."

In the smallest of hours we took the longing stride, 

perfect fourth, going down

like a dive.

*K Gibran

 First step: major second

The sun, the winter sun, distance, patience

the coldest stream, a turquoise vein, barely blood, mostly tears

the haze of dreams, the first spring dew

a man is fire, a man is earth

a quiet unison. The fire, as it does, lunges and spreads

until the earth's command:

"Here fire stands."

The sun, the winter sun, king to all but not to us

distance, patience, his devout daughters, have finally met

a prince, a prince to carry the crown when death

sweeps the sky. Hold your applause.

"A two-month long knife in my heart."

"Two months I burned and turned 

to ash."

The streets weep, a golden glaze, a turn, a change

of pace, quick steps, we're in a rush, cut through

the crowds, street after street, the big city, a prince,

a prince, and in the dusty shade of the building's hall

apostates

what a monster of a thirst, how desperate the hands

to take the longing stair, major second, going down

like a sigh.