Riverbank
poem
Silver grey sand
Lies down before the water, in the remnants
Of last night’s distracted drinks
Where the answer to the modern Icarus
Dreamt in octophonic shades of light
And the world
Hurled itself to pieces at his feet:
I pretended to be here and I was not
For I had no particular intent
To look into the city’s eyes, the empty towers
Locked and desolate at five, nor go among the goldenrod
That straggles on the path, wondering at houses
Where the lights are always off, and no one sleeps,
Remembering that the cat must be let in.
I went northward and saw ten stranger things,
For no one ever means
To meet the phantom in your head,
But comes upon it in the dark
And knows it by its breath
And all the things it cannot say.
Companion
Of a thousand other nights like this,
I mislike your profile, better turn your head;
Let both of us go singing home to bed.