Winding through the darkness,

As if enclosed in the womb of the earth,

Shattered shades fold inward, colourless, foaming,

Soft with aureoles of sound, a music,

Rustling, fathomless, the night of tombs

Like an ocean of near silence,

In its long emptiness of sanguine separation,

A tyranny of the grave,

Worshipped below

Mycenaean idols,

The last of life's freedom drawn to motionless.

The gestures of ceremony, fragile;

Thin glass enclosing tracing fingers,

A finality of the poem, within,

Leaving transparent eulogies on walls of innocence,

Sole navigation through cavern's stars,

Only visible in the light of language,

In the epic formula, in the speech of union,

Shadows vanish to the edges of universal boundary

At the voice of myth, when a hand upraised

And the tales of the tongue remove blindness,

Remove sere fear from soul's waters,

From the stream running through

The centre of bright ecstasy.