phlegmatic on my bier
no regrets — my body bears
truth stem to stern
beginning with the hips
who am of common stock
looking to the sea
face ground — nothing now
conjured from dust
suffering — hung by the heels
sought occasion
as will was never conquered
to see the host broken
a swinging scythe — the dance
this most pleasant to me
so make moan of the old days
say why should love live
You that I loved all my life long,
you are not the one.
You that I followed, my line or path or way,
that I followed singing, and you
earth and air of the world the way went through,
and you who stood around it so it could be
the way, you forests and cities,
you deer and opossums struck by the lonely hunter
and left decaying, you paralyzed obese ones
who sat on a falling porch in a deep green holler
and observed me, your bald dog barking,
as I stumbled past in a hurry along my line,
you are not the one. But you
