"The Second Ceremony," Gabriel.
The nursery, with Robert as before, but open-eyed as fire
comes through the door on tiptoe with a tray
of fresh herbs, wild apples, a garlic clove, and nutmeg.
Child.
Lord?
Do you see me?
Yes, Lord.
So my twin's gift took.
Today we must make haste to help our child develop taste.
Now child, lick the salts that season what wetly walls you in
and, with that, reason.
Lord, I take it in.
I make sense of it.
Dear unborn, you have been thoroughly schooled
and the other meaning of this new sense is yours to apply.
One, no dynamic simply for the thrill of them.
Two, keep entrench the clean calm harmonics of heaven.
Three, bring to your art the clarifying salt
you now taste and you will please our God.
Lord, I obey.
And child, develop a taste for the ice,
that cold absolute which tinkling your wine
helps make its intoxicant twice as
potent in the heat of too much life.
Lord, ice it is.
So on the morrow with a pat my Emmanuel
brings you that most gratifying of the senses.
There!
Greet your friends and taste their air.
Exit.
In Robert's portrait now a sheen of Lethe spreading
wipes the flat lips clean.
Sirs, he called for a sugar lump as antidote to the salt lick;
then sightless clap, soundless hands, fetch me the peacock,
and off they flew.
Uni, is he limping?
Has he changed?
He comes to my mind each day diminished,
a little man made younger yet.
How lonely we'll all be.
You'll have the peacock still and Unice.
The next day.
Sirs, he will leave us?
Yes.
You didn't know?
DJ, it's dawning on him only now.
Uni is stunned.
The cup looks for a place some corner of the board to hide its
face then with-- the light, oh--
stumbles from the room.