A process in the weather of the heart

A process in the weather of the heart / Turns damp to dry; the golden shot / Storms in the freezing tomb. / A weather in the quarter of the veins / Turns night to day; blood in their suns / Lights up the living worm. // A process in the eye forwarns / The bones of blindness; and the womb / Drives in a death as life leaks out. // A darkness in the weather of the eye / Is half its light; the fathomed sea / Breaks on unangled land. / The seed that makes a forest of the loin / Forks half its fruit; and half drops down, / Slow in a sleeping wind. // A weather in the flesh and bone / Is damp and dry; the quick and dead / Move like two ghosts before the eye. // A process in the weather of the world / Turns ghost to ghost; each mothered child / Sits in their double shade. / A process blows the moon into the sun, / Pulls down the shabby curtains of the skin; / And the heart gives up its dead.