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I had wanted a quiet testament
and I had wanted, among other things,
a song.
        That was to be
of a like monotony.
                    (A grace
Simply. Very very quiet.
                         A murmur of some lost
thrush, though I have never seen one.

Which was you then. Sitting
and so, at peace, so very much now this same quiet.

A song.

And of you the sign now, surely, of a gross
perpetuity
          (which is not reluctant, or if it is,
it is no longer important.

A song.

Which one sings, if he sings it,
with care.

Added: 13 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 8 Aug 2008 9:05 PM | Viewed: 3547 times

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