Darkness. For the first time you hear
The body that has made itself core
Of the universe (or anyway, you reckon now,
Or yours), slacken its guy-ropes for sleep
As if mile-deep water
Were slap-settling round you in a lake
Whose speedboat carnivals, much as you adored
The show they made, have gone.
It’s a website of alien muscles
Losing their hair-trigger touch on a soul
Blowing Christ knows where. This is all
New. But you say
(To him, to yourself),
I’ll follow, if you give the sign.