Endymion

by Thomas Kinsella

At first there was nothing. Then a closed space.

Such light as there was showed him sleeping.

I stole nearer and bent down; the light grew brighter,

and I saw it came from the interplay of our two beings.

It blazed in silence as I kissed his eyelids.

I straightened up and it faded, from his pallor

and the ruddy walls with their fleshy thickenings

— great raw wings, curled — a huge owlet stare —

as a single drop echoed in the depths.