Vesuvian

The Last Day of Pompeii, by Karl Bryullov (1830-1833)

Love, Heaven is reversing the order of things

and turning them upside down so they may

fall into the burning sky while the ground,

 is aflame, some lifetime away.

Love, the statues of men will crush their heads,

flung from their place by the fingers of lightning

flicked at will, and their immeasurable weight

weighed now against Divinity enlivening.

Who watched the figures trampling over

the street of tombs, now itself one,

though none can cease to clamour over

blood and beneath it, as the angriest sun

they have ever seen

buries them in fired darkness?

Well, you must have, or someone else

who witnessed the black mares rearing,

the abandoned bull, and the mounted bare

struggle with the balance and tearing.

Love to the man cradling his folded depths

in a floral crown! To the mother and son!

To the couple shielding the infants!

To the throng on the ruining steps!

And, love, you know me so tell me with

your sweetness just what I have done, and then

after the slaughter, I will plead remorsefully 

 and promise never to do it again.