When once the twilight1 locks no longer
Locked in the long worm of my finger
Nor damned the sea that sped about my fist，
The mouth of time sucked， like a sponge，
The milky2 acid on each hinge，
And swallowed dry the waters of the breast.
When the galactic sea was sucked
And all the dry seabed unlocked，
I sent my creature scouting3 on the globe，
That globe itself of hair and bone
That， sewn to me by nerve and brain，
Had stringed my flask4 of matter to his rib5.
My fuses are timed to charge his heart，
He blew like powder to the light
And held a little sabbath with the sun，
But when the stars， assuming shape，
Drew in his eyes the straws of sleep
He drowned his father's magics in a dream.
All issue armoured， of the grave，
The redhaired cancer still alive，
The cataracted eyes that filmed their cloth；
Some dead undid6 their bushy jaws7，
And bags of blood let out their flies；
He had by heart the Christ-cross-row of death.
Sleep navigates8 the tides of time；
The dry Sargasso of the tomb
Gives up its dead to such a working sea；
And sleep rolls mute above the beds
Where fishes' food is fed the shades
Who periscope9 through flowers to the sky.
When once the twilight screws were turned，
And mother milk was stiff as sand，
I sent my own ambassador to light；
By trick or chance he fell asleep
And conjured10 up a carcass shape
To rob me of my fluids in his heart.
Awake， my sleeper11， to the sun，
A worker in the morning town，
And leave the poppied pickthank where he lies；
The fences of the light are down，
All but the briskest riders thrown
And worlds hang on the trees.
