When You Cannot See the Light of

​When you cannot see the light of
Kindness that, even higher, shines in
Its molten core, then life is devastation
And all that can redeem the feminine

And masculine, the burgeoning engine,
Is the husk, the skin, the stain,
The lust. Life is a rag, charred limbs,
A doll blind, grotesque, beneath the counterpane,

A driving wind into a bleak Arctic.
And those who are fine discover
The light of kindness at its source
And they see in beloved and lover

Wisdom shining on love, filled 
With dew. Our galaxies are
Vast turmoils of is and not,
Dark matter and light, vacuum and star,

Boiling forth creation. And life
Is precious without any measure,
From its home, the bright core,
Obscure, the secret forge of pleasure.

(And that is all—said the telegram boy--
That I can tell you. My knees gave way
As he gave me the message, and before
He finished, I staggered away.)