On the banks is a fallen man
Who is tired of golden heels,
Of finesse of ecstasy’s fiddle.

Water below is much flowed
And flows while stars eat sky.
Man on banks needs blanket.

After the stars have eaten it
God, please fold a sky small
To let a man cover his body.

Poesy be filled with warmth
As the stars pour their light.
Let darkness keep cold out.

Many stars grow their wings
And embrace lighted panes
After they have eaten a sky.

At dawn we open a window
To the raking of their wings
After they embrace deaths.

(after reading T. E. Hulme ‘s poem The Embankment)

Advertisements