All the pictures of the World have shown
Our falling not from Heaven but from Here
Down toward the white bone dust of Fact.
Our ghosts flung to the slow dark with their pain,
Their painted pasts, risked loves, their quiddity,
Will haunt the City where we learnt to walk
With measured steps and reasonable smiles.
One day, they will infuse the dust again
And make it flesh and give this to the dance
And you and I will swing each other round
All wild and holding on with laughter’s weight
We’ll come to know our hearts as endless flame.
Meeting with each other here in Truth
The hidden names we’ll voice in ecstasy.