When the northern light fails

Come, let's away to prison.

We two alone will sing like birds i' the cage.

Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore.

Take thy beak from out my heart,

and take they form from off my door.

When the northern light fails, memory of the sun seeps from my heart (the gold in the black); there is a blizzard all around, but deep in the heart of winter is a hushed place where snow falls ever so softly, silently. Sightless and speechless, the remembrance of what was lost is like the solitude of the stars, the silver tracery of the spider.

Lost in the wilderness, disoriented and bewildered, the cage of your heart offers a strange kind of captivity. As if your keeping of my soul in a blue glass bottle, or a picture of my face close to your heart would bring solace to the eye, peace to my senses.

Crow realized God loved him-
Otherwise, he would have dropped dead.
So that was proved.
Crow reclined, marvelling, on his heart-beat.
And he realized that God spoke Crow-
Just existing was His revelation.

But what Loved the stones and spoke stone?
They seemed to exist too.
And what spoke that strange silence
After his clamour of caws faded?
--Ted Hughes.

With thanks to Roxana, as always, for pointing me here.