To his mother, on his blindness

When from this dark and burning hearth

Black milked from out the rage of day, I come

To tear blank limbs from spineless membrane mirth

And strew them, gasping manflakes dull

Flying folded in a world of wire,

Then something surges on the distant shore

And ancient screams can penetrate the daze

Of aerial tumult and the chthonic neutron waves;

Then flames take light and earthflesh unfolds fear

And this bright mandala is snowquake thunder here.