Factory blackness, fingertips almost metal
Moon a cinder, mother ash. All about
Stretched walls of godless steel,
And a house like a chapel, unlit and firm.
I had known no such vacancy. Brevity
Of moment, bright with wit. Brittle now
In memory as the world works again
Tell me, were you the darkness that
Awoke me, or the dawn I sought
To pull forth with my will. My madness,
My disbelief. Were you mother?
Shivering, I piled my limbs to pyre--
Were you the interrupting current
That sped through wires
and shook the nerve. Were you myself?
Still and stone despite the show,
Shaken, stale, never the same again.