There are other lovers
    but the ones I know
come gently they pour sand
     from evening-light,

          they love rain
          as it takes them
          as it takes their form
          as it appeases them
          by fulfilling an other
so all things may be unborn.

          Carved inside-out
          the white shell is placed
          on the white land I have seen
                 it in the way of
                    the streetlights too,             
                   of quiet quiet quiet
                            light wedded
                                  to winter

                     It was not all quite ready
                     yet to unexist,
                     It needed all a certain place
           as beauty does it, every midnight.

            Cant't you tell how once it arrives?

            There are other lights
            but the ones you know
                                 are exact.
                  The ones
               of the pouring sand
               which love the rain
            to have their white shells.