The sun does not set on
This face of mine,
Nor soar on wings of fire to me,
Nor rush to greet me,
Kiss me, leave me,
Nor burn and scorch the skin from me.

It is I who moves away
Withdrawn
From light and life
All blazing bright and
Cloistered in
My rising run,
The weight of spirit
Left behind.

In darkness seeps the weeping soul,
The river dry yet
Flowing slow,
Still, from diamond drops
I rise
And leave the day to grow star-shocked.

Not I,
Not I
In soft light singing,
Not I
In scalding molten roils.
Not I,
In wreckless brightness weaving,
I am in the hidden night.

No stabs of stars
In velvet dreaming,
No echoes of the
Left
Behind,
No grace can mar
This thickened dark
Wherein I turn my face
And die.

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