Poet, New Style

SECRET our ritual,
Lonely our road.
Who fathoms our habitual
Rhythm and code?
Who by what art shall pierce
To the heart of our enigma?
Feel in his hands our fierce
And novel stigma?
Before the Gods we burn
On solitary pyres,
So far that few discern,
So dim that none desires.
We have left the day,
Yet fear the night.
Clearness has fled away,
Sense dropped from sight.
It is strange bronze we smelt.
Wild metal was alloyed
By spectral heat we felt
Vibrating through the void.
Our pleasure and distress
Mean nothing in the street.
If we know the emptiness,
So too we know the heat
Across the abysm stealing,
Piercing us through and through,
Invisible, revealing
As lightnings Homer knew.