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Le Corbusier, Socializing with birds & things, learning the infinite language of creation

It cut the fresh young rose in the garden,

Just beyond the hospital grounds

On the other side of the cemetery;

The side grove reserved for pets

Was busier than ever this year;

Why were the pets dying?

Or were the people’s numbers growing?

But why weren’t the people dying?

Only pet burials disturbed the peace

Of the season-rich, softly perfumed bowl;

The girls brought milk and pastry

To Mr. Coleman’s door and laughing,

Singing, dreaming of love walked away;

In the evening, when he greeted them again

From the red bench in the orchard

As they walked home from school

They asked him if he knew the birds,

The seagulls by the sea that stared

At the sunsets on his key chain pendant;

Have you tried to socialize with birds?

They asked innocently and honestly,

Why don’t they let us in, Mr. Coleman?

The birds have locked us out of their eyes

Out of their beach, out of their sight.

His key chain glittered

In the dying sun rays

Every day, every dusk

Anew, as if reborn;

The girls glanced at it with longing,

Sighed their eyes aways,

Deep and blue like wells,

In the bearing of the sunset shadows

It wrought on the dusty path

Covered in sun-kissed leaves.

On the Fifth Day they were born,

the birds, but on the Seventh

They were chained and encrusted

In diamonds and gold as ornaments

On the immaculate, splendid frieze

Of Mr. Coleman’s key chain.

The birds pried on them

Through the heavy trees

Mistresses of the chain of their eternity

Framed with golden locks

Like the sacred rings

In Mr. Coleman’s ancient hand,

The man in the orchard

They knew too well;

A ring for each maid

Was there pre-destined

Her heart’s choice,

Her desire’s election & affinity,

But the birds remained indifferent cold,

Down by the water

In the heaving waves,

Vain tumult, empty threat,

The soft power of the surf,

Infinite yet held in the golden rings —

Their wedding rings —

In Mr. Coleman’s diamond key-chain,

The vain things not in vain,

Vanitas that nourish & edify

Bind all sinful, fallen matter

Betwixt the soul & its marrow.

If Niniveh fell “all because of

the wanton lust of a harlot,”

Mr. Coleman’s orchard blossoms

Each happy, glorious Spring anew

For the young girls’ ringed promise,

Their wedding ring redeeming

All creation, all vanity, all desire

In the eternal Christian order of things,

Learning their language

Each day anew, into infinity.

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