Chapter XXXI

The mists that whirl in greater mists
Around the cliffs of space
Leave little drops of glistening water
Upon His wrinkled face.

Have you heard Him, as walking through
The valleys of the night
He paces ever back and forth,
Silent, old and white?

Upon some jagged piece of dust
As high as night is high
He watches all the tiny worlds
Go spinning down the sky.

Around Him are the burning stars
That toss like little ships
And winds blow out of dim unknowns
Across His very lips.

Have you heard Him amid the silence,
Vast as a silken cloud,
Lifting His arms with jewelled pendants,
Cloaked in a heavy shroud?