This house, pitched now

The dark wide stretch

Of plains and ocean

To these hills over

The night-filled river,

Billows with night,

Swells with the rooms

Of sleeping children, pulls

Slowly from this bed,

Slowly returns, pulls and holds,

Is held where we

Lock all distances!

Ah, how the distances

Spiral from that

Secrecy:

Room,

Rooms, roof

Spun to the huge

Midnight, and into

The rings and rings of stars.