Who Breaks His Glass to Take More Light

I feel for young Vaughan, caught out
Where the veil was thin for him,

One side dawn and one side night,
Just past death and full of life.

He so longed to get to God,
His God, all clear streams, birds, light—

He so loathed dirt and plain life
But so loved what grew in them.

When he broke his lens to get
More light, he made way for poems.

And then. He was done. He lived
A long life. Seems he did well.

Worked to cure the more dull ills
Most folks have. Wrote no more lines

On rings of time, God, light, stars,
Faith, seeds, trees, night. Why? What died?