And up the stairs one could find no one
with which they would desire
to share a cup of tea - let alone cakes -
before a stroll through the park, or a song from the choir.
We behold the foreign filled streets,
legs that talk, tell time, and measure glee
in the urine of Western history.
Oh, I pray God those legs gain no voice
and lash out with justified tongues
for we cannot undo that which is done -
and make no mistake: we are all guilty�even you�even me.
The time between the months of deception
act and react like the solstice upon us.
This yearbook for the deed's conceived to contend and weigh
their merits with those undone,
the luckless hordes who stay virgined to the light of day.
I often feel I shall squash this fluttering moth
who emphasizes the vacancy that remains
long after you moved away from here.
I know this from the incessant beatings,
not of the flesh, but of the air;
beatings of wings like spent shrapnel.
And I know that moments from now I shall contain
the squall of fire that encountered more
than any mind can ascertain.
Clouded in the obscurity of an instant rapport.
And I return�
And I fear you will only exist in veneration
at the thoughts which Mr. Eliot forgot to mention,
something beautiful - though lacking justification -
so perhaps I can be of service:
Evol nac pirg em.
Hcae thgin yb a regnarts.
A elgnis-gnivres noitcnuf.
Hcihw secudorp eno revol.
Srettam fo ecnatsid.
Dioved fo ecnereffid.
Siht gnitsuahxe lautir.
Si gnimoceb lautibah.
And I thank-you for coming.
IV
We have seen the feculent snowfall lift,
succumbed to the hard, road side salt,
and lodge between our tires, between the
death we know and the death we imagine,
where the opportunity for living is to be felt.
We have witnessed the eternal sunset beyond
the hills we can see, hills that call the sunrise friend;
the me that loves to be raped by this re-emergent sunrise,
the me that wants this all to end.