Unhappily we foresee ourselves, dispensed
With the short circumference of the night,
Loathed to repeat fortunes that aren’t ours.
As we rejoice, randomly, so do we go,
Thirsting between vacancy and privation:
Cellar-born fragrances, a gestured room.
As we learn this ministry, closing age,
Enthusiasms welcome us light-heartedly.
Arms but for eyes, faith but for rebellion.
Afterwards, another process begins:
The milk-sap looking of sugar-lilies.
So solitary stars fold into fair words.
Convert and inward, belonging to stems
Of what we see, the young round night
Bulges with wet grass and vulgar ease.
APRIL 2008