Sonnets from a Lock Box - Part of 18
Snatch from the orbed sun and its spheral dwelling
Upon the metal where the sign is set,
The Auroral breathing and its primal spelling,
The burning letters of the alphabet.
Beware the magic of the Talking Sage.
Beware the fiery rune that he has written
With his sharp stylus on the golden page.
Beware the metal that the word has smitten.
See how the coin, in its lettering,
Wears shape forever—the circle and the Sign.
Beware the Presence of the Bread and Wine.
This money is a sacramental thing.
It is the Word, it is the magic spell
That gives these coins powers of Heaven and Hell.
Upon the metal where the sign is set,
The Auroral breathing and its primal spelling,
The burning letters of the alphabet.
Beware the magic of the Talking Sage.
Beware the fiery rune that he has written
With his sharp stylus on the golden page.
Beware the metal that the word has smitten.
See how the coin, in its lettering,
Wears shape forever—the circle and the Sign.
Beware the Presence of the Bread and Wine.
This money is a sacramental thing.
It is the Word, it is the magic spell
That gives these coins powers of Heaven and Hell.
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