55
Headstones stagger under great draughts of time
after heads pass out, and their world must reel
speechless, blind in the end
about its chilling star: thrift tuft,
whin cushion-nothing. Already with the wounded flying
dark
air
fills, I am a closet of secrets dying,
races murder, foxholes hold men,
reactor piles wage slow upon the wet brain rime.
56
I must pretend to leave you. Only you draw off
a benevolent phantom. I say you seem to me
drowned towns off England,
featureless as those myriads
who what bequeathed save fire-ash, fossils, burled
in
the open river-drifts of the Old World?
Simon lived on for years.
t
renounce not even ragged glances, small teeth, nothing,
57
o
all
your ages at the mercy of my loves
together lie at once, forever or
so long as I happen.
In
the rain of pain
&
departure, still
Love has no body and presides the sun,
and elfs from silence melody. I run.
Hover, utter, still,
a sourcing whom my lost candle like the firefly loves.
503
