As I was reflecting on the Earth-sized impact site just found on Jupiter, and the impending solar eclipse, this D. H. Lawrence poem came to mind:
Southern Night
Come up, thou red thing.
Come up, and be called a moon.
The mosquitoes are biting to-night
Like memories.
Memories, northern memories,
Bitter-stinging white world that bore us
Subsiding into this night.
Call it moonrise
This red anathema?
Rise, thou red thing,
Unfold slowly upwards, blood-dark;
Burst the night's membrane of tranquil stars
Finally.
Maculate
The red Macula.
1 comment:
Thank you jupiter for bearing the brunt of the cosmos' indifferent rage.
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