He would pull a chain on a broken clock and a small door would
Swing open and an ornate little bird would sing to him until he
Understood the bird mechanical and had no song to sing
And it was only himself pulling a chain and his
Hand had grown weary and after
That he only pined for, while resting, legs crossed,
A bird crashing his window crowing, "I want you."
Is I. Is complicity shedding
First felt as anxiousness. Recoil.
But now welcome absence.
Absence welcome. Beheld in common with few.
Compañero? Drink of this cup? De café.
Cultivated in difficult/ path/ building.
In rest broken (awake?) as unknown
Sniffs, examines and scrapes
Intruder/ or venturer/ who takes nights away.
Though unnecessary by some measure
Still nights/ unstill nights, a/way are chosen.
Suppose the dead could crown their wit
With some intemperate exercise,
Spring wine from their ivory
Or roses from their eyes?
Or if the wise would understand
And the world without heart
That the dead are not yet dead
And that the living live apart
And the Wounded are healing,
Though in a place of flame.
The sick in a great ship
Are riding. They are riding home.