(To Kathy Paysen)

Come, take my hand, and let us go.

We have still not found our vision, though
Centuries of struggles have wasted deaths.

Bounded by the emotions we felt ourselves

With a closed book, an idle paper,
A chequered shade of sterile dreams.
Looking out at a tiny ember
In a heapful of light,
I sat inert one night.

As the calm settled on the undulating sea

Tonight will be the night of death.
Read me what priests have said,
What histories and books have taught
The ailing poets, what sons have breathed,
What mummified saints and miracle hands

(Remembering Edgar Allen Poe)

I left my work and went to sleep,
It waked me.
It waked me at that slumbering hour

Buried with gout you lost dear life of yours
Half lost earlier widowed to survive
Worthy years Milton you were sent by his
Own wish and in the chariot gold engraved

Buried with gout you lost dear life of yours
Half lost earlier widowed to survive
Worthy years Milton you were sent by his
Own wish and in the chariot gold engraved

Buried with gout you lost dear life of yours
Half lost earlier widowed to survive
Worthy years Milton you were sent by his
Own wish and in the chariot gold engraved

Part One

Flock led by shepherd bleated with content.
Over lea, o’er hillock, over sward it went.
The boisterous birds huddled among the trees.
Bold, bare and hoary flew in summer breeze.

Forgive me, Earth, if I have forsaken you
For my dreams and wishes.

I know I have flayed each norm,
Each rule, each sense of belonging.
I know I have plucked each root,

There was this stillness in the air.
And you beside me.
Gently, I touched the warmth of your love
In the soft glow of the candle
That we had hit
When the lights went out

Lift the veil and see the rays
The light reflected in the dawn.
Then call the myriad stars to light;
Those clever haunters of the night.

Green empty bottles strewn,
Girdled to apoplexy,
With forked instruments hewn.
Taxi! Taxi! Taxi! Taxi!

He stood beside the green chair.
Leaned, fumbling his hands.
Belted to unawares.

A farmer ashamed to go back to his wife,
And children, and mother senile.
The earth is to be welded together this sunny afternoon.
Fables will elude the known in the fantastic.

He buttons up his trousers and walks
Out of the city broth. The sun has set,
Walks out across the street and steps
Into the pub, then drives back home.

Night.
Windows closed.
Doors bolted.

When every flower on Nature's lap
Spends last phase of its serene nap.
When silent dew falls on my lawn,
While on my bed I stretch and yawn.
When through the window I softly pry