The morning began As all bright days do Dripping with dew, Plans, outlays & hopes.

But as the sun progressed In it’s arc, those morning armies Beat a hasty retreat into the body Where an eclipse deepened.

The only escape from this shrieking Dark is a mute acceptance of it, For in reality aren’t even the clustered Stars spaced light years apart?

However what really saddens Is this poverty of desire, disgorging From the body, a homeless shelter Where it takes refuge every night.

It effaces all pleasures, of hearing Someone unexpected call, the sight Of a cardinal hurrying through The bare branches, Bach on the radio.

And reduces every evening To a self serving lamentation. Then I become both the mourner And the one mourned for. Then silence comes, after weeping, As exhausted sleep…