O bluedark dream.
O heart of space,

open. O end of days.
O ending of light

that streams into the wood.
O invisible gate,

whose finials rise now
greened in doubt.

O hold and trust.
O face at the window

again, your thoughts
are prayers. Always

and O forever
the slow waters

along the edge of what
we give ourselves

to see. O peace that is
a shadow, or a grayed stone—

come word me comfort
surer than such

hurt, O surer O
deeper than song.