Under the stone the lizard breathes,
His tongue a semaphore
In the blinking darkness;
Deep in the ribs of the oak’s cage
The owl, like a new moon, appears;
Poised at the roof of the river’s bed
The fish, thinking to rise, resists,
Fearing this gulp will be endless..
Neither the flickering from the stone,
Nor the owl’s eye,
Nor the rainbow along the fish’s side
Will show the way.
But there, where the fire ripens
(Where the fire is ripening like a spring),
The path will open, the Angel beckon,
And we will follow. For light is all.
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