Touch is the sacrament.
It lies within the grain of wood
That grows, and nourishes.
I have builded my house
Below the shifting of the earth,
I have builded my house
On the liquid rock;
And the earth root cracks
The centre of the world,
And eager the sap rushes heavenward.
This is the Ash to my ash.
Let no one question that there is chemistry
Between these natures, watch
The blessed conception as they touch,
Veiled in steam.
Let no one part the wave and flow,
Or halt the spin that sends the solid wide.