The Feast

What do you bring to warm my body and soul in these bleak winter days? White, succulent, tender meat of fowl? Breast or thigh?

What strange hunger is this, that knows no end. Neither the ascetic nor the glutton has an insight into this matter.

The things that were brought before us, like so many gifts, each remembered with great affection, like the words of the beloved and...

Old age
singles them out as though by first-light
As though a still-life, preserving some
Portion of the soul's feast, went with me
Everywhere.

The King is not displeased, but, alas, the princess... Preparations have been made, hands busily employed since the early-morning; the fires have been stoked so that things will be perfected among fire; spices to make the blood quicken, crispy fat, salt to sting and oils to soothe, an abundance of wild fruit in baskets, the choicest selection of wines to further our intoxication, to help us fall; something savoury-the brevity of sensual pleasure; the warmth of cinnamon, the deep richness of a chocolate gateaux; the delectable, the refined, the coarse; curdled yoghurt and something simple side-by-side with the rare, the unique; the taste of the exotic to make the tongue tingle,vegetables brought to the boil immediately, fresh-bread from clay ovens, and meat slowly turned over a spit. Each dish on the table is brought to completion by giving it the right amount of time, care, and loving attention.

We ate, drank, unbuckled, slept.

Nothing is lost, there is no choice that cannot be undone. If there is infinite mercy then there is time again, and everything will be possible, come to fruition, find its true Form.The feast continues into the early hours, when I enter your tent, the guests at home and at ease, and only you and I are awake.

One cannot lose what one has not possessed.
I can lose what I want. I want you.

Why downcast, my soul? Raise thine eyes and look at the glittering feast that has been placed before us. Look, the stars move closer, the time is ripe, our season awaits us. Devour what is rightfully yours,partake in the festivity, for by doing so you make what is bitter taste sweet.

--citations, Geoffrey Hill