Burning as the turn within should have
The weaver of a solid mass of light
Fire broods to bellow in the night
Opposite the yellowed tusk
I never saw it leave myself
I only saw the dimming
And that which shocked itself about
Never climbed again
Had I been blind I might have missed
What I have felt beneath my eyes
But had I seen I might have scorched
The very soul within my tide
© GÄ
Poétique 