It has been too long since I began again To seek speech or light for all within me-- The venting evening overcast and no moon Divvying the heavens between dark and dark; Too long has silence like a deadened seed Bred desolation within my hollow ear. Speech after long silence begins where first The loudened wave may be vivisect, yet live. To see as new, nude Prometheus might, A lesser dark must split a dreaming seam In the all-encompassing all-too-solid night; A lemon shim of dawn must crack and come Before any fuller day of sun. The halo of some first syllable, first sight, Resistlessly spread in black enclosures of the night, Revives the angelic exemplar of all that may be Seen or said, all sight or sound may carry By its enlarging, thinning rings of self: self Ever-expanding, a blue balloon enlarged beyond The sky, whose crimsoning confides all that dawn Implies, more than keenest noon intends. And so, the evening overcast and no moon, In place of giving speech or searing sight, We have our mid-night quiet time together, The absent moon another listener at the table Between us, the table invisible under our elbows. Together we eat the moonlight of remembrance In a silence we cannot parse or chant apart, Intensely unified by our clodden ears-- A poverty of null-maddened imagination Covering over our duskier selves with clouds.