I am a miner. The light burns blue. <br />Waxy stalactites <br />Drip and thicken, tears <br /> <br />The earthen womb <br /> <br />Exudes from its dead boredom. <br />Black bat airs <br /> <br />Wrap me, raggy shawls, <br />Cold homicides. <br />They weld to me like plums. <br /> <br />Old cave of calcium <br />Icicles, old echoer. <br />Even the newts are white, <br /> <br />Those holy Joes. <br />And the fish, the fish— <br />Christ! They are panes of ice, <br /> <br />A vice of knives, <br />A piranha <br />Religion, drinking <br /> <br />Its first communion out of my live toes. <br />The candle <br />Gulps and recovers its small altitude, <br /> <br />Its yellows hearten. <br />O love, how did you get here? <br />O embryo <br /> <br />Remembering, even in sleep, <br />Your crossed position. <br />The blood blooms clean <br /> <br />In you, ruby. <br />The pain <br />You wake to is not yours. <br /> <br />Love, love, <br />I have hung our cave with roses. <br />With soft rugs— <br /> <br />The last of Victoriana. <br />Let the stars <br />Plummet to their dark address, <br /> <br />Let the mercuric <br />Atoms that cripple drip <br />Into the terrible well, <br /> <br />You are the one <br />Solid the spaces lean on, envious. <br />You are the baby in the barn.<br /><br />Sylvia Plath<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nick-and-the-candlestick/
