One is a nocturnal wood when mind lies down
and sleep overawes the illicit groves,
pruning diurnal loyalties and loves.
Intellect is stripped, senses drown,
the naked soul is a beast brought down,
oppressed by the incubus of the place
where rage wears a daughter’s face
and reason trespasses, uncrowned.
Unable in the dark the dark to confound
each uncrafted word perjures
while above the ego’s wrecked features
the dream’s horizon turns upon a sound.
Till fire meanders in the blood
with Uccello trumpeting the woods.