God spoke once in the dark: dead sound <br />in the dead silence. I turned <br />in my sleep. <br /> I slept and sank away. <br />Then breath by breath I rose <br />a rigid skeleton <br />of thought spread over all the <br />night maintained by faith alone afraid <br />to waken, nay, afraid to stir <br />in sleep. <br /> <br /> I, face to face <br />with my own image. <br /> <br /> Mine, Rock, thought, and <br />rock. Concrete the flesh - it lay <br />within me, turned, cold <br />in the living sheets. <br /> <br />Suspended on cold iron, branded on air.<br /><br />Yvor Winters<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-precision/
