Day Clutters Dark Stone Poem by James McLain

Thy heart will be only what it may be, does it see?
Semi dark thoughts of the gray marble womb
in whom does it rest.
Dark heart the clutter of pink that stone;
Not one, from all of the crowd,
did then too raise, In thine hour of thine own need
proffered forth of this thy secrecy.
Be quiet in this thy loneliness,
Which is not my loneliness for emptied full spirits of death,
from which you were held In this life before thee,
are still bound up In death night around the thee,
and their Sun shadowed moon will with thee; be always.
The night, although dark clearly, waxes my eyebrows,
And the stars will not look in from the top deep
is the well to the bottom.
Of their high thrones in the sky, hiding plain sight from the tail
of the comet though,
With the light like faith l sail with the mortals given by choice,
But their red bodies burn all around, without thine beam,
With thy lassitude it will seem Like such burning
and tears oft fall laid fever.
What that I would hang to the thee forever.
Touching It Now; widowed shalt dispersed of thousands
of thoughts not through brine to banish, Now art the visions me
Hewe to disappear;
From thy spirit they pass Past thou more,
like the dewdrops of clear crystal' seed on grass.
The breeze, how art the breath of God, is she always,
And the fog on the high shady hill, shaded,
however uninterrupted, it Is a symbol and thy mark.
How it hangs bereft on that tree,
hear it as mystery my death of the mysteries!
...
e.a.p.