And a tenth part of Okeanos is given to dark night br a tithe of the pure water under earth br so that the clear fountains pour from rock face, br tears stream from the caverns and clefts, br down-running, carving woundrous ways in basalt resistance, br cutting deep as they go into layers of time-layerd br Gaia where She sleeps— br br br the cold water, the black rushing gleam, the br moving down-rush, wash, gush out over br bed-rock, toiling the boulders in flood, br purling in deeps, broad flashing in falls— br br br And a tenth part of bright clear Okeanos br his circulations— mists, rains, sheets, sheathes— br lies in poisonous depths, the black water. br br br Styx this carver of caverns beneath us is. br Styx this black water, this down-pouring. br br br The well is deep. From its stillness br the words our voices speak echo. br Resonance follows resonance. br Waves of this sounding come up to us. br br br We draw the black water, pure and cold. br The light of day is not as bright br as this crystal flowing. br br br Three thousand years we have recited its virtue br out of Hesiod. br Is it twenty-five thousand br since the ice withdrew from the lands and we br came forth from the realm of caverns where br the river beneath the earth we knew br we go back to. br Styx pouring down in the spring from its glacial remove, br from the black ice. br br br Fifty million years—from the beginning of what we are— br we knew the depth of this well to be. br br br Fifty million years deep —but our knowing deepens br —time deepens— br this still water br br br we thirst for in dreams we dread.