Ode to Myself

I am the only black hole sunken on the waves,
The only rose-coloring of wave on wave,
The color beyond color, the wine on waves,
The flood on flood, the only sunset sehnsucht
Immortal beyond the coral sea,
The only voice repeating without end
That there can never be an end,
The only voice that rose in rose-colored syllables
To tell of imperishable washing, to speak
The acutest ascent, the astutest measure of solitude
Beyond the vanishing, the point
At which the eagle’s wing flared
And turned away, diminishing in diminuendos
Before resurging in the medleyed melding;
I am the de-masking of the damask,
The outer shell, the outer atmosphere,
The last disguise, the final zenith of undying stars
When bromeliads bloom beyond imagination,
The succession of susurrations without cessation,
The pink glow that will never be superannuated.

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