Dark reflection of light,
Soft as dust on the shelf,
Will appear to fight
Irretrievable self.
From the masts of a ship
To the wings of a plane
Uncontrollable grip
As before and again.
It's an ambient dream
Or ambiguous rule,
Semicircular stream
Of a graphite whirlpool.
Inspiration to drown
makes it easy to see
Disembodied touch-down
Come back home, little spy,
You're exhausted in this land.
Yellow amber, tiger's eye,
Silver bracelet on your hand.
No one needs you any more,
No one treats you like before.
Come back home, little tramp,
Restless crow quills on the way,
Through the summer, sweet and damp,
Through the winter, sleepy grey.
Seven circles, seven seas,
Copper tears of dusty trees.
I will rock you in my arms
To the sound of distant chimes,
I will kiss your waxy palms
And forgive you all your crimes.
To listen to its voice, to feel it.
The pupils of its eyes are floating freely
Through drowsy bluish ripples of the sun
With cool forbearance. It has always won
The game which we are desperate to win,
And plunging deeply down into its skin
We're aiming for its heart, a beam,
Inhaling lilac darkness of the stream,
To be dissolved and to be born afresh
Among the clots of seaweed in its flesh.