Count The Almonds

Count the Almonds, count, what was bitter, watched for you, count me in: I sought your Eye, as it opened and no one announced you, I spun that hidden Thread, on which the Dew, of your thought, slid down to the Pitchers, that a Speech, which no one’s Heart found, guarded. Only there did you enter wholly the Name, that is yours, stepping sure-footedly into yourself, the Hammers swung free in the Bell-Cradle of Silences, yours, the Listened-For reached you, the Dead put its arm round you too, and the three of you walked through the Evening. Make me bitter. Count me among the Almonds.