Sometimes the heart is a coil of shadow
And a chain of light, an open wound
And drifting snow; sometimes we have
Each other, and sometimes we hold
Nothing but too little time and hunger.
I’ve been to sand and sea, to rivers dry
And overflown, fallen and flown in flesh
And the dream of the dawn that is coming.
Somehow, somehow I now stand here
Alone at a crossing like hangmen and
Scales, everyone blind, everyone wanting
And every cup empty, miraculous dust.