I go no more away
For Visitor—or Sundown—
Death’s single privacy
The Only One—forestalling Mine—
And that—by Right that He
Presents a Claim invisible—
No wedlock—granted Me—
I live with Him—I hear His Voice—
I stand alive—Today—
To witness to the Certainty
Of Immortality—
Taught Me—by Time—the lower Way—
Conviction—Every day—
That Life like This—is stopless—
Be Judgment—what it may—
And chooses Wainscot in the BreastFor His Shy House—And baffles quest—Grief is a Thief—quick startled—Pricks His Ear—report to hearOf that Vast Dark—That swept His Being—back—Grief is a Juggler—boldest at the Play—Lest if He flinch—the eye that wayPounce on His Bruises—One—say—or Three—Grief is a Gourmand—spare His luxury—Best Grief is Tongueless—before He’ll tell—Burn Him in the Public…
It might a pilgrim beDid I not take it from the waysAnd lift it up to thee.Only a Bee will miss it—Only a Butterfly,Hastening from far journey—On its breast to lie—Only a Bird will wonder—Only a Breeze will sigh—Ah Little Rose—how easyFor such as thee to die!
As from the earth the light BalloonAsks nothing but release –Ascension that for which it was,Its soaring Residence.The spirit looks upon the DustThat fastened it so longWith indignation,As a BirdDefrauded of its song.
For—put them side by side—The one the other will containWith ease—and You—beside—The Brain is deeper than the sea—For—hold them—Blue to Blue—The one the other will absorb—As Sponges—Buckets—do—The Brain is just the weight of God—For—Heft them—Pound for Pound—And they will differ—if they do—As Syllable from Sound—
May be a common thing—Or only a divine.It is not of the BirdWho sings the same, unheard,As unto Crowd—The Fashion of the EarAttireth that it hearIn Dun, or fair—So whether it be Rune,Or whether it be noneIs of within.The ‘Tune is in the Tree—’The Skeptic—showeth me—‘No Sir! In Thee!’
Patience—Look within—Is an Insect’s futile forcesInfinites—between—‘Scaping one—against the otherFruitlesser to fling—Patience—is the Smile’s exertionThrough the quivering—
