Verlaine Conducts the Tribunal: Rimbaud’s Eyes
I try to fathom why he has that haze
In fluorite eyes. No one can tell. I’ve asked
His friends about that gaze.
They all go blank. Not one of them when tasked
To give interpretation of his black
And long-length curls can offer any hint
As to their mythic strength. Each heart goes slack
When thinking of his hair, its Delphic glint.
His nose, his cheek, his lips, his shoulders own
Occultic powers impossible to know.
His chest, his thighs, his hips, his haired shin bone
Are mystic and replace religion’s glow.
Then when these elements all move as one
They veil the Father, Holy Ghost, and Son.