Many a miner has gone into the deep pit to receive the dust of a kiss, an ore-cell. He has gone with his lamp full of mole eyes deep deep and has brought forth Jesus at Gethsemane. Body of moss, body of glass, body of peat, how sharp you lie, emerald as heavy as a golf course, ruby as dark as an afterbirth, diamond as white as sun on the sea, coal, dark mother, brood mother, let the sea birds bring you into our lives as from a distant island, heavy as death.
Those on the top say they know you, Earth—they are liars. You are my father, and the silence I work in is my mother. Only the son knows his father. We are alike—sweaty, inarticulate of soul, bending under thick knowledge. I drink and shout with my brothers when above you— Like most children we soon forget the parents of our souls. But you avidly grip us again—we pay for the little noise of life we steal.