The Second Leaving

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcons do not heed the falconer;
Westward, wide wings spread, green-clad mountains
Turn their backs to dry-basined borders;
Eastward, tall towers, glass, bronze and stone
Float free above infinite horizons
Ignoring the jester who rages at his empty jess.
Things fall apart; what can the center hold?
The ceremonies of innocence were dead
Long ago; and through this blood-dimmed tide
We glimpse the freedom of a terrible knowledge.

Surely some revelation is at hand.
Surely the Second Leaving is at hand.
The Second Leaving! Once unthinkable, now
Never to be unthought; this century’s harvest
Of the blood of patriots brings forth from stony soil
Acres of wildflowers ablaze with bees;
Tall shapes lifting feathered capes to the wind
Their hour come back at last; and shining beasts
Rise from the whirlpool on fast-drying wings.

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside