The word that forks some lightning

The word that forks some lightning
    opens up a knifewedge of open space

as saltwounds remember the homespun,
    as knuckles caress the loveskin that

works the silent shift, the mutehorn
    shrieks vapor, shrieks blankstare

out where the river bends, the sun
    gathers, and the grim worm kneads.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night. Dylan Thomas, from Do not go gentle into that good night