All was as it was when I went in:
The pictures right-side up, the chairs in
place,
The flowers stood stiff upon the mantel-piece;
I knew the voice, I recognised the face.

Outside, the same sky held the same earth
fast,
The green leaves shone, dogs barked, the
children played;
But suddenly, inside, the air grew cold,
The evening ceased to sing; I was afraid.

The chairs began to dance, the pictures
screamed,
The suppurating flowers smelt sickly-sweet;
The white walls crashed together, silence
howled,
The floor collapsed in darkness at my feet.

The door slams shut, the wind is in my hair,
The sky has gone and in its place there
stands
The mighty stranger, blotting out the sun:
I turn and feel my way with cold, blind
hands.

But where I turn he stands before me still,
Annihilating time, bestriding space;
Chaos is come, my daughter is unborn,
And blank and featureless my young son’s
face.

No point of recognition but the grassEven
the tree betrays me in the end-
Oh blind hands, feel the toughness of the
blades,
And the cold ground beneath them as your
friend.