IX

Night and the water seem one; it washes the sky,
enters our dreams with the immediate burst of its presence,
night,
doggedly there, interrupted and starry,
alone
as it sweeps off the leavings
of every dead day
with the snowy
device of its heraldry over us,
and under us,
between us,
the net with the knots of its cordage: shadow and dream.

Water or dream, truth's nakedness,
shadow and stone -
we are these and continue to be:
our nocturnes say nothing of light,
we drink the pure darkness;
our lot was to stand by the stones
of the oven:
when we bent toward the bread with our paddles
we drew out the darkness
and we were broken
into
our lives:
it was night that divided us,
taught us its wisdom by halves
till we walked
without faltering, pierced
by the light of the stars.