Children of Light

THOSE children who were born with coats of light,
Who glistened like bright crystals in a tide,
They have all died by fire. It is night

Now, inland, time to eat and rest. The flight
You fear is waiting where you hide
Those children who were born with coats of light —

The shapes of them, that is, the burned out, white
Ghosts of your childhood gods, your startled pride;
They have all died by fire. It is night,

The game has ended. Note your falling kite:
How terrifying now the earthward glide.
Those children who were born with coats of light

Haul at the string until it’s out of sight,
But you can sense the splinters at your side.
They have all died by fire. It is night

Now. Dream of water; dream of height.
That fear is nothing, nothing there inside.
Those children who were born with coats of light,
They have all died by fire. It is night.