Mind is too slow
To catch the flow,

Pale words too dark
For feeling's spark,

Not up to the task
Of questions asked

From where we live.
But we can give

Up to the fire
Of whole desire

And anguished, raw,
Through body draw

Upon the stream
Of spirit's dream,

'Til brightly shown,
An image grown

In silence stilled
By furrowed will

May yet reveal
What doubt can't steal.

And from the dim-
ness of mere whim

Vision is found
In poem's sound.