Jun 042015
 
Once in springing winter's yearning
Sledding my shed days down the glistening hill
From white heights of the sun's turning
To where trickle minutes glint and spill,

All I had begun to breathe and rawly be
In the rayed amaze of my logturning race
Merciless vanished into responsible seas;
Melted to salt was my hour's grace.

Twice in the mature assurance of doing
When I paid my bills duly and nightly wildly wooed
Million-pleated shimmering skirts of my choosing
As though my noontime had no doom,

All I had managed to gather with scythes and give
In the muscled playdays of my manhood's prime
Sighed from their silos in grain-golden waves;
My laughing lovers swept on into time.

Thrice when at the pleated weeping bedside
Hovering love went striding from the room
Harped into narrow light at the grave's thin side,
I heard the night-note hid in my hammering noon--

And all my sledding came down on my back
And snows of rosaries I continually said
Kept not a flake, not an ash, of those tears from my track;
I vanished beneath seas and the seas' dead sands.

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