Song for the Local Apocalypse

THE signs on the compass swing in a circle;
The circle dips and curves to a sphere;
The sphere sweeps out in a broad elliptic;
The center, the center, is always here.
Here, my darling, here, my extra;
Here in the rose that is now and here.

Arrogant Mary blindly pointed
To orchids and islands and I and Me;
The compass swerved; the star curving
Swam to her eyes, and she cried, “I see!”
Here, my darling, here, my usual;
Here in the rose that is now and here.

Sam who was dressed in tweeds and disaster
Pointed to North, said only, “There!”
The circle swerved, and Sam said swinging,
Awaking and laughing and singing, “Here!”
Here, my darling, here, my extra;
Here in the rose that is now and here.

And obstinate Oliver, frantic Eliza,
All egoist Aunts in pools of fear,
Sweep with the vision of sudden circles,
Return to the gold, the sudden Here!
Here, my darling, here, my always;
Here in the rose that is now and here!