My face hung out its search in front of me,
A mask to try the outer wind of space,
Or net of form cast in the sea, to be,
To catch at things not safely in their place
Out building coral pinnacles; on the fly
When heaven lay prone on rocks of cloud I caught
A tall star in the corner of my eye,
And I was thrown flash to the floor of thought-
Thrown, like the fisherman who had asked too much
In wanting to be God; the lightning’s hiss
Foamed at the peak of earth, full height to touch
And hope, but death-rayed down to an abyss,
This all deep nothingness through which we whirl.
It is the stars that make a valley of our world.
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