We need not caverns to grow.
We love the dark loam surrounding us with nowhere else to go,
No more than a whisper or a moment’s glance, no more space than a shifting of an elbow,
Inspires us to crack our seeds and grow.
I Have This Tattooed In My Heart.
Laugh out the meager penance of their days
Who dare not share with us the breath released,
The substance drilled and spent beyond repair
For golden, or the shadow of gold hair.Distinctly praise the years, whose volatile
Blamed bleeding hands extend and thresh the height
The imagination spans beyond despair,
Outpacing bargain, vocable and prayer.For the Marriage of Faustus and Helen, Hart Crane
