That we will learn the awful hunger of God, the nerve-fraying
Cry of God, the curdy vomit of God, the soiled swaddle of God,
The constant wakefulness of God, alongside the sweet scalp
of God, the contented murmur of God, the limb-twitching dream-
Reaching of God. We're dizzy in every departure, limb-lost.
We cannot sleep in the wake of God & God will not sleep
The infant dream for long. We lift the blinds, look out into ink
For light. My God, my God, open the spine binding our sight.
- Compline, Philip Metres