Sonnets to Orpheus, Part II, 9

Don't boast, you men of justice, that the rack is obsolescent
and that iron no longer shackles necks.
No heart's been lightened, not one -, because a willed
spasm of mercy twists you more tenderly.

What it's received through the ages. the scaffold
gives back - the way children treat their toys
from past birthdays. Into the pure, the high,
the gatelike open heart, the god of true mercy

would step differently. Gigantic he'd come,
cutting swaths of radiance, as is the wont of gods.
More than a wind for the great confident ships.

Not less than the secret subtle conciousness
that wins us silently inside

like the quietly playing child of an infinite pairing.