There Is No Better Way To Know

It Took The Whole Of Creation To Produce My Foot, My Each Feather: Now I Hold Creation In My Foot.

He Was His Own Leftover, The Spat-out Scrag. He Was What His Brain Could Make Nothing Of.

I Sit In The Top Of The Wood, My Eyes Closed. Inaction, No Falsifying Dream Between My Hooked Head And Hooked Feet: Or In Sleep Rehearse Perfect Kills And Eat.

The Iron Man Came To The Top Of The Cliff. How Far Had He Walked? Nobody Knows. Where Did He Come From? Nobody Knows. How Was He Made? Nobody Knows. Taller Than A House The Iron Man Stood At The Top Of The Cliff, At The Very Brink, In The Darkness.

I Shall Also Take You Forth And Carve Our Names Together In A Yew Tree, Haloed With Stars.