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.
The Redstarts 