Amor Fati


There in close covert by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day’s garish eye,
While the bee with honied thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing…

— Milton, “Il Penseroso”

Among our trees the devilish gypsy moth
scatters still-green leaves like scraps of cloth —
a thousand fingers furred with black and hunger;
Matisse-like fragments fall in countless number,

while overhead these soft destructions rush
toward November, endangering June’s lush,
laurel blossoms transformed into so
many eyelids of a summer snow.

No sense fighting: almost a year has passed,
and fancy this aborted summer brings
more than a dusty pestilence of wings,
the oaks’ cool shadings disappearing fast.

No sense raging, he straightens his tie;
the moon last night was a burning golden eye.
And with treetops scarred, the stars float by
so hotly nearing any human lie.

The garden whistles a half-indifferent cry.
The lake is churning dreams of being sky,

as moth-gypsies, in their Judas-play
continue on their almost-destined fray
turn wooded dark to unforgiving day —
our cautious coverings are torn away

exposing our own animal deceptions.
While lost among the songbirds’ strained inflections,
even the wind is working its quiet teeth —
the further means of a deft and troubled thief.

Jennifer Anna Gosetti Freencei teaches at Fordham University, New York. Her works include Heidegger, Hölderlin, and the Subject of Poetic Language (2004); The Ecstatic Quotidian: Phenomenological Sightings in Modern Art and Literature (2007); and After the Palace Burns (2003).

First published in Measure, Volume 2 (2007)