We've got to here: a
Track of some wise words, which are shadows
Or like the humming of a once great tune
Or like prayers to a god who isn't
There. It's altogether something else we track
Obedient to it as phototaxis.

With what we know already
We would climb this old heap of meanings
Bright, glittering & arid
But folding like foil into the total dark calm
Waiting at the limit of what will be said.

Small things only get through: bare irresoluble facts:
They tell of good
And of something beyond this: that dream
Flickering as our breath falters
Out into the dark calm.



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