If you wish to send a message
From one imagined corner
Of an infinite universe to the other
You must win the favor of the angel
Who stands there, trumpet at the ready,
And bored almost to extinction because
His sole function until just now
Has been to mark a corner which,
Strictly speaking, does not exist. You
Will doubtless have a plan; some words
To assuage his loneliness or perhaps
A series of savage blows and kicks.
Those who've given thought to the matter --
There've not been many -- recommend
Small feats of intimate magic involving
Three Jacks of Diamonds, a gudgeon,
A scarf and a handful coins so old
That their faces might show anyone.
Having won the angel's favor you next
Must ask of him some birchbark,
Oakgall, copperas and a tall feather.
Think well before you write; your message
Must be able to endure innumerable translations
And transformations without betraying itself
And, should it succeed in traveling
The uncrossable distance to the next angel
At her imaginary corner and arrive there
As a ginger-colored cat, anyone seeing it
Must know it for a cat who's come
As a message from infinitely far away.
No comments:
Post a Comment