let us praise human ingenuity,
the eternal violence of fire in the human heart
lending heat to cold metal,
wind whipped back in its passage through the night.
let us praise human wisdom,
a despair as solitary as
the love of night's fugitive powers,
the heat of cold rails,
the brute kiss of power without subtlety.
He is generous, giving of himself like a god,
to the flowers of the field;
and like a priest before
'Ite missa est!'
changing the ferment of his fervent heart to blood and bone,
fit enough to fertilize weeds.
let us praise foresight like Prometheus
giving fire and light,
renouncing all gifts - except himself,
impaled on progress,
sparking light from hard iron ...
He is gone, on a lone voyage of undiscovery
- let none intend interference with his departure,
let no one choose to join him.