Light breaks where no sun shines;Where no sea runs, the waters of the heartPush in their tides;And, broken ghosts with glow-worms in their heads,The things of lightFile through the flesh where no flesh decks the bones.
A candle in the thighsWarms youth and seed and burns the seeds of age;Where no seed stirs,The fruit of man unwrinkles in the stars,Bright as a fig;Where no wax is, the candle shows its hairs.
Dawn breaks behind the eyes;From poles of skull and toe the windy bloodSlides like a sea;Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of the skySpout to the rodDivining in a smile the oil of tears.
Night in the sockets rounds,Like some pitch moon, the limit of the globes;Day lights the bone;Where no cold is, the skinning gales unpinThe winter’s robes;The film of spring is hanging from the lids.
Light breaks on secret lots,On tips of thought where thoughts smell in the rain;When logics dies,The secret of the soil grows through the eye,And blood jumps in the sun;Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.