Not easy to state the change you made. br If I'm alive now, then I was dead, br Though, like a stone, unbothered by it, br Staying put according to habit. br You didn't just tow me an inch, no- br Nor leave me to set my small bald eye br Skyward again, without hope, of course, br Of apprehending blueness, or stars. br br That wasn't it. I slept, say: a snake br Masked among black rocks as a black rock br In the white hiatus of winter- br Like my neighbors, taking no pleasure br In the million perfectly-chisled br Cheeks alighting each moment to melt br My cheeks of basalt. They turned to tears, br Angels weeping over dull natures, br But didn't convince me. Those tears froze. br Each dead head had a visor of ice. br br And I slept on like a bent finger. br The first thing I was was sheer air br And the locked drops rising in dew br Limpid as spirits. Many stones lay br Dense and expressionless round about. br I didn't know what to make of it. br I shone, mice-scaled, and unfolded br To pour myself out like a fluid br Among bird feet and the stems of plants. br I wasn't fooled. I knew you at once. br br Tree and stone glittered, without shadows. br My finger-length grew lucent as glass. br I started to bud like a March twig: br An arm and a leg, and arm, a leg. br From stone to cloud, so I ascended. br Now I resemble a sort of god br Floating through the air in my soul-shift br Pure as a pane of ice. It's a gift.