The locust sobs in the leaves. Her dusty hair
My love has now let fall upon the sun’s
Stream. Beyond pale trestles
Flows evening: darkness and earth-drift.
Under a shard of moon the locust sings
Mourning holocausts of summer.
Centaurs in warm forests wheel silently
Over leaf-mould, where the huntress
Walks with stiff breasts.
A star at the bedside clinks.
At last knee to knee we say: Peace
Though in the air of bats a clown listens.
Our present death, dear time, of all purity
Takes lordly revenue in this twilight,
The leaf-veined delta of the spreading year.
The field is silted for the richer harvest,
Crystalline shores regained,
And a slow surf beating our nets forever.
Leave a Reply