Catherine Blake’s Lament

By Bruce Pratt

Catherine Blake’s Lament
The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

Catherine heard old Blake’s roaring in the night,
his heart beating “tiger tiger burning bright,”
as up in the corner he spied Swedenborg and Jesus.
“William,” she cooed from deep in their bed
“I’m naked from my soles to the top of my head,
Dear Blake come it’s time to please us.”

His soul sang, a hammer on a forge,
imagination raging and rising in his gorge,
the way wind in our hearts can tease us.
Catherine cried, “The warming stones grow cold
bring me the magic of your body to hold,
Dear Blake come, it’s time to please us.”

“Come now ere I slip on my night dress,
and storm down that gloried road of excess,
heft me with imagination let mystery lead us,
to the fire behind your dry weary eyes,
the muscle pulsing in your tiger’s thighs.
Dear Blake come, it’s time to please us.”

“I believe in your visions that I cannot see,
all your brilliant memorable fancies,
the proverbs you have taught that free us,
to be naked in the day in our garden
without charge or call for pardon.
Dear Blake come, it’s time to please us.”

“So let the sweet serpent’s whisper lave your ear,
the one who taught you to conquer our fear,
the one who conjures dear Moses and Jesus,
the ones whose wisdom is here to feed us.”