Something at last broke through And said: This is how it is It was perhaps a little thing as a bird is little or an airplane ripping through the night. It seemed a word from elsewhere Barely spoken when we heard it and not needing our approval, being brighter than we had a right to expect anything would be again. Or say, rather, that it carried light from somewhere deeper in this strange place. No sudden thing, it had been there longer than our eyes had been open. Expecting nothing, it seemed to Look at us accusingly Like the bird on the bough, just in sight, just out of sight Saying, fool, fool This is not for play. I'll not be back for long If you dismiss me And turning and turning with sudden speed, shot silver into the night.