Issue 20, Autumn-Winter 1958-1959
How all things shatter, fall away, and break.
In this time of my great happiness I pass
And repass the gates of the Holy Ghost
Where all men die,
And the bridegroom comes to remember loneliness.
Around the stony saints the old men crawl,
Around and around, and all roads lead to the wall.
The street beyond is all stuffed up with toys,
Where children die, fair girls and boys,
In their narrow cribs devoured by serpents.
A dying widow combs thick yellow hair
And scatters bread crumbs from a kitchen crock.
I see the white birds in her back-street flock.