Issue 21, Spring-Summer 1959
The rain coerces memory,
And shadows cast upon the door
Love’s old encroachment and the face
Of one whose history
Unwinds within this dark, abiding place.
The years’ residual despair
Sifts downward, gathers to a blur
Of meaning, and the heart is dust.
Who am I? and I wear
Again love’s degradation, as I must.
Oh dear, unsponsored ghost, lie still!
The mind, unraveled, would be whole.
I am my own, my own increase!
Yet from your savage hill
The dead still walk where definitions cease.