With the lilting tunes of “If you go away”
in the back of the mind,
a realization slowly shifts its feet
(it lay immobile all this time)
that the I and Thou cannot be
fully grasped and truly loved.
Every Bronowski faces the lonely compromise
— either feel the crush of admiring faces
and allow the slow calumny of
acceptance at a level less than worth—
or bend low enough to chart the true
descent of man.
You therefore represent the dark skinned edge
of a raw persona aiming at a cross
and by your splendid acceptance
of the part with the whole
and your wild inclusion of irony
in the wide eyed “you have become more tolerable”
I only shudder at the purple-faced-ness
with which I presumed to not let you know
the name of her for whom I was God.