The blinding wonder shed its steel attire
And, soundless, flares and surges skyward-bound.
I do not hold it. I ask for no fire.
One moment more - and fingers of light unwound.
Again the room is worn by the everyday,
While shadows have pooled in corners all around.
Everything weighs, stubborn and set to stay:
The chair, and the glassy depth, and the bed
Forgot the soaring. The nameless slips away
Through the ceiling, drowned in grey heights overhead,
And here - mere outline, a cooled border that ends
Where, beneath the hand, warmth trembles like a thread.
And night, once mine, now strange to me, descends,
Because the air holds flight inside the dark,
And from here upward the soul extends -
Carries, like a burn, this pink mark.