As a man is, So he Sees

(on Blake’s Poetical Works)

deep blue, with unfussy deco grooves
spine bruised by
hands older than my own
pages softened to ivory, packing
revolutions

I hold your weight in my palm
you reach out
flare out, thought dressed
in immaculate words
to scorch my head my breath my tongue

tucked at the back a passage
fervently typed folded
dormant for thirty years, an ember
- without Contraries / is no progression
and you’re there, in your walled garden
walking with angels