Lamps

We are the passing contacts of two worlds.

Power out of space and time

touches in us into a life’s short light

the temporal earth.

Calm shine some, in whom power and deadweight hold

a steady balance; some

smoulder an age; some flare smokily up;

some by a chance blow are untimely over;

on others

presses too hard the splendour of the power;

glows like a star their mould, but in an hour

burns out.