(by Geoffrey Hill)
I can read this
man has a
labyrinthine mind, a strong
dark pool into which
from a stalagtite
one crystal drop forms
and falls
to plink and
ripple the water
gently until the liquid mass
in unison
laps the stone lip
at its outest edge - he
thinks amid stars and -
suns, stretching the
darkness to him
as if he had
arms with which to hold
the silence of God

(he holds to him
more than he reveals
his singular words
individual pearls, the
mooning surface
just clearing the
water but
keeping, like an
iceberg, its 
bulk beneath)
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