We passed the ice of pain
And came to a dark ravine,
And there we sang with the sea:
The wide, the bleak abyss
Shifted with our slow kiss.
Space struggled with time;
The gong of midnight struck
The naked absolute.
Sound, silence sang as one.
All flowed: without, within;
Body met body, we
Created what's to be.
What else to say?
We end in joy.
Theodore Roethke
"The Moment," Mysticism Through the Senses
Poesis V. 7, No. 3, 1986, 38-46
image via {lourry legarde}
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