Preparation, No.1

The light comes now, unbanishable,

Missile through a high glass dome.

All around crashing, itself a kind of life.

No violence familiar enough for us.

 

Unless it is this, the turn which awakens the skin, the joints,

Innocent of nothing:

And what to do now

But bundle ourselves into it and wait?

 

It is like crossing roads —

 

On the other side, well into a dark which licks

The collarbone, still visible

A light like fire but not of it.

 

How pictorial.

 

I say now missilery is not enough, we are bleached,

Our caliber is unknown;

There is no vacancy in the nerve.

 

So we are drawn. Come here, be still:

And though you are this close, this close —

 

It is a wonder how one time can become another.

We are alone. Against the broad thrashing nothing left

But the weft,

The wow and flutter of the heart.