Beyond the river heavy morning rose
In mist that soaked the pines and weighted air:
Distant and dampened, hunting sounds of crows
And a freighted diesel baffled at the ear.
He died at the slack. Nature loosened hold
An instant and his hurt brain slipped outside
In a surge of blood that, flooding in, unrolled
A breaker bearing him on to farther tide.
The fog drew off. A heron fished the stream,
The train ran sounding on its westering course,
And where his body lay the mourners came,
Death having gentled life laid under curse.
The lines outside his loves ran still unharmed:
No news, no passion over the speed of light
Knocked at the doors of distance with alarm.
Unarmed, in sin and mindless, he went out,
Out to forgiveness he could never give-
Alone, his own soul’s master, leaving few
To mourn, yet who is left who will not grieve
Seeing that body still, the mind made new?
Who knows what spheres of love those hands impelled,
What worlds he mastered, farthest from his thought?
He was a man, weak, punishing and wild,
And God shall hold him dear, so dearly bought.
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