In Front Of A Candle

Of chased Gold, asyou told me to,

Mother,

I shaped the Candlestick, out of whichshe darkens for me in the midst offracturing

Being-Dead’s Daughter.

Slender in Form,a thin, almond-eyed Shadow,

Mouth and her Sexdanced round by Slumber-Beasts,she drifts from the gaping Goldshe rises up,to the Summit of Now.

With

Lips,

I speak the Blessing:

In the Name of the Threewho fight with each other,

Heaven dips down into the Grave of Feeling,in the Name of the Three, whose ringsgleam on my Finger, wheneverI loose the Hair of the Trees in the Abyss,so that richer Floods rush down through the Deep – in the Name of the first of the Threewho shrieked,when called on to live, where his Word went before him,in the name of the Second, who watched it and wept,in the name of the Third, who piles whitestones in the middle –I pronounce you freeof the Amen that overpowers us,of the ice-filled Light at its rim,there, where tower-high it enters the Sea,there, where the grey one, the Dovepicks at the Namesthis side and that side of Dying:

You stay, you stay, you stay,a Dead Woman’s child,sealed to the No of my yearning,wedded to a Cleft in Timeto which the Mother-Word led me,so that a single Spasmwould pass through the Handthat now, and now, grasps at my Heart!