Lip Service

Coming back to myself through flights and departures,
These voyages not into gloom
But the vision that holds its prospects close to the gloom --
Keeping the words to that gloom so close
To hand -- but trying desperately to come back
To myself, trying so desperately to come --
To hand! -- in storms
Or perhaps by some way where words and their enchantment
Are lost --
Hovering over darker, gloomier waters, over mists
Finally boiling and rising so that
Something like the light will come to fall
Between them on nothing that was not when all
Of this began, i.e.
Nothing that will not look back to them
Or through them
And is simple as a face
That never shrouds her thoughts.