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