This deep and dark descending
finds quiescent secrets practiced
while lesser moments stir
toward sounds compounded
in their own refrain.

This turning of earth to moon
slivered, this returning memory of light
in dark,

Now
the edges of these two shapes
spiral inward
as the long silent sister sings
unpracticed songs.

Inward, inward
the swamp slick miser turns;
inward, inward
the night sounds build

No hope
until this cabin found.

Quiet
foolish heart!
Dream
your woolly dreams.
Here, here,
now, now.
Leave me home
with my untried supplication
for this twain rejoined.