Light breaks where no sun shines; 
Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart 
Push in their tides; 
And, broken ghosts with glow-worms 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 dies, 
The secret of the soil grows through the eye, 
And blood jumps in the sun; 
Above the waste allotments the dawn halts.