Light breaks where no sun shines;
Where no sea runs, the waters of the
heart
Push in their tides;
And, broken ghosts with glowworms in
their heads,
The things of light
File through the flesh where no flesh
decks the bones.

A candle in the thighs
Warms 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
blood
Slides like a sea;
Nor fenced, nor staked, the gushers of
the sky
Spout to the rod
Divining 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
unpin
The 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 die,
The secret of the soil grows through
the eye,
And blood jumps in the sun;
Above the waste allotments the dawn
halts.