New Occidental Poetry

Pale Litany

So solemn night—when a litany
Of moon inflects the snowfall with its tone;
When lowly bend attenuated branches
Enrimed, like shadowed watchmen huntching
Through the supulchre of the night; when pallid dancers
Dance to the death of the year—have you, un-naveled
Of precedent and precept, stood with reverence
Before the chasm of the night? And there,
Seized and spanned-through by such direful
Selenography—moon-struck and yielding—
Have you attended to the chrous
Of the pale light?

When first I heard its rite—
Illimitable, and ancient as our blood—
It attested to my heart in such alluring
Discord. It seemed a spectral murmur
Gliding the cleft spanning between all shapes,
Echoing of each secluded, unfamiliar
Form through the vast Earth in the darkness,
Until all was anointed with this fugue
Of disharmony—unutterable
And immense.

Voicing down the barren
Bleak that between all ages has unfurled—
Where throngs enshadowed visage after
Enshadowed visage, each a watchman
Over his hoard of deeds forgotten
In the dark—and over all the petty world
The moon intoned in somber censure,
“Insignificant.”

-Matthew Wildermuth