Blackness lurks in corners,
Wind snatches the sparks,
Tongs and poker jangle together
Like the iron bones
Of a man that was hanged.

III. THEY WHO DANCE

The feet of dancers
Shine with mirth,
Their hearts are vibrant as bells:

The air flows by them
Divided like water
Cut by a gleaming ship.

Triumphantly their bodies sing,
Their eyes are blind
With music.

They move through threatening ghosts
Feeling them cool as mist
On their brows.

They who dance
Find infinite golden floors
Beneath their feet.

IV. PIANISSIMO