You, Who Wanted

“You, who wanted to taste the fruit from the kernel outward,
for you forest paths appear to lead to paradise.
Ludwig, they’re treacherous, those alluring stairs,
renounce them: today will be ancient.”
“I renounce nothing, old man. Approaching my gate now I can hear someone naive,
the wolfram fingers are about to touch the door. A lifeless
thing will be cured for the moment of death and of silence,
no grain of powder will ever renounce
breath, creation. The presentiment of music
itself is music. Any being who delays his birth
is in recompense twice delighted, living twice.”
And thought follows along in its course, lashing the senses
into voluptuousness.